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The Power of an Aquatic Hourglass

Today the item that I have chosen to laud to the stars of Autism Awesomeness is none other than the aquatic hourglass. It is not exactly a toy or something enjoyed throughout my childhood days of yore and yesteryear. If I played with it as a child there would probably be shards of glass and water everywhere. But at the same time, it captures the essence of childhood and beyond. It is the non-stop passage of time that moves too slowly…only not.

As I get older, it seems as though there is just never enough time. The apartment is a huge mess, and I have become overweight due to not making enough time for much-needed exercise. But right now I am completing this work while on the treadmill desk so perhaps this is a decent start to any future goals. The hourglass can be considered a haunting reminder of how important it is to do something called, “budgeting one’s time.” I do not like that word nor the expression, “Does not use time wisely,” which was stated on my second grade report card. It is amazing the things that we remember from all those years ago and how they continue to affect us in both good and bad ways.

I enjoy the aquatic hourglass considering it is hauntingly beautiful. The device inside moves ever so slowly and seems to be peaceful like a healthy child in the womb. What I like most about the water-logged time piece is how it never runs out of water, and it is practically trapped there forever. Then again, nothing lasts forever. The Buddhist culture, for example, creates beautiful sand mandalas with vibrant colors. It looks so beautiful, intricate, and perfect. But it is always destroyed on purpose to symbolize that nothing really lasts forever. The aquatic hourglasses seldom last more than a few months. They have been broken through various means such as accidentally dropping them, knocking about in my bag of toys, and even being left in the vehicle on an extremely cold winter night. The water expands when it turns into ice and breaks the shackles of the glass. The broken nature of the hourglass is pretty much like a feeling of wasted time. We have screwed things up six ways to Sunday and feel like a failure. But at the same time, there is the knowledge that we still have many years left of life to rebuild things even though there is nothing we may do about the past at the moment.

My obsession with time is not just because I am getting a little older and am seeing the years pass like sand between my fingertips. This probably started around the time I had to write my first book back in 2008. There was the chance to publish a book…the chance of a lifetime, in fact. But it was just so difficult to get started and pound the thing out on a laptop computer like I am pounding out this blog entry this morning. I realize that back in those days I had wanted things to be absolutely perfect and as a result it was incredibly difficult to get started on the epic project. Time does not have to be used perfectly as long as it is actually used for some productive purpose. And used early, for that matter. For example, last night I wrote a letter to Senator Gillibrand asking to speak at the National Democratic Convention even though it is three years away. I have invented a new term called, “Tempophobia,” which means a fear of wasting time and procrastination.

One of the reasons why I chose the aquatic hourglass for this literary piece is due to the fact that it reminds me of those toy wands that were more popular in the 1980s even though I sometimes see them in the toy section of a bookstore like Oblong Books in Millerton. They had glitter and stars enclosed in the wand like a New Year’s Eve celebration going on forever. Back in those days before the invention of Smart Phones and YouTube, it seemed like one of the coolest things I had ever laid eyes on and paved the way for new discoveries to follow. Another discovery is Backwards Procrastination, which explains itself.

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