I have to get serious and finish my book. The entire previous post came about because I decided to spend my morning compiling my poetry instead of finishing my book. Since I couldn’t find a revised version of one particular poem, I did a search on the internet for it, which brought me to the picture of Pope looking oddly similar to me, which gave me yet another excuse not to work on the book, as I was so thrilled Pope and I were twins separated at birth; upon further research, I discovered he had been sent back in time through a Newtonian Time Telescope, which accounted for his hunchback and height of 4’6″.
Later, when I got off work, I decided that it would be wonderful to exercise so that I didn’t become a hunchback; with twins, there’s no telling. And then dinner and movie with the family, and, then, you know, why not read blogs — all activities Pope can’t do where he’s at, except eat, in theory. The whole heaven/nonlinear timeline/space-time-matter puzzle confuses me. And how much time have I spent on the book today? Zero units of Planck’s time, milliseconds, centiseconds, deciseconds, seconds, minutes, and hours. Did you know there is a time converter online? That’s practically like a time machine, and my back is hunching as I write.
And did you know there are 86,400,000 × 365.242 milliseconds in a year, which is 86,400,000 × 365.242 milliseconds I haven’t used to finish my book? Pope would be so disappointed. Scratch that. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t care as long as the critics aren’t tearing apart his work. Who knows what’s going on at that end of the Newtonian Time Telescope? I’ve heard there are no safe spaces, though. One just has to take the insults or go hide in a grotto somewhere, where no man can see one’s tears.