(possibly not for the Germans)

Hickory dickory dock. The mouse went up the clock
The clock struck twelve, the mouse did well

to kiss and tell, that it was swell

Hickory dickory dock

Then the clock struck one, but the mouse had more fun
The clock had got stuck, as it ran out of luck

Hickory dickory dock

A poet, I’m not, as the petty lines above show. This time as the pen has run dry, I am mulling over how time flies or crawls in different circumstances. A deadline, looms ever larger and closer, inversely in proportion to your lack of control. And a surreal sense often envelopes one as time sometimes races, and sometimes stays still on the way to twelve. Basically it all depends on how enjoyable we find some activity, or how important it is for us. Even so, the flow of time towards a rigid cliff of a deadline is not a little mysterious.

I don’t think there is a magic wand to ward off all the butterflies and cold feet, but just think of all the things you can do on the other side of midnight!

The other other Friday bloggers: Sanjana, PadmumRaju, Maria, Shackman , Ramana and Conrad will have written more directly, possibly more amusing than merely musing.