Bus Stops and Time's Machines

It's been 16 days since the mountain fell on me.

Today was another day that followed yesterday and will be preceded by tomorrow. Time, as it is wont to do is marching on. Regardless of how I personally feel, it is continuing its march forward. I am not quite sure that I am ready for this constant, inevitable movement, but I am equally as sure that time... in it's infinite stoicism gives not one fuck about how I feel about its linear movement. It has been moving forward for the past millennium, and will continue to do so long past my echos echos are forgotten.

I just wish that for a few moments, I could pull a cord like on a bus, and there would be an audible *DING* and I could yell THIS IS MY STOP... and I could take a break. But time has a resolve that would make a mountain meek. It has a will that cause oceans to blush. Long after the last light on this planet is seen in some far off galaxy, time will keep going and going... and going. I understand that, I know that, I feel it and accept it down to my bones. But it doesn't stop me from wishing I had a Delorean that went 88 miles per hour.

DAY 4 OF CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN

and I took one look, said fuck it, went back to base camp and stared....