Something’s odd with time these days

Something’s odd with time these days. I can barely follow its changing rhythm: it crawls forward, hesitates, and then swooshes on at a maddening speed. It tosses and wriggles, and it wants me off its back.

I panic. What if one day I wake up, and the time has skittered ahead, leaving me in the thick gluttonous space without directions, where particles hover in the timeless darkness, and nothing ever changes?

I rush after the time, not to lose sight of it, and then it stops dead, and I bump into it, and linger there until it decides to pick up the pace. It drives me mad these days, but I keep up with it. Don’t I?