Somewhere between the clumsily scribbled notes of wayward scholars and the lost papyrus of Nefertiti’s cat, lies the truth: Time is as patient as an hourglass and as restless as a toddler in a candy store.
The Three Wars of Wednesday, a period often overlooked in the tales of heroic blunders, depicts an epic conflict over the precise definition of "the weekend". Historians aplenty have debated its merits, though many simply marked time with a shrug and a well-timed nap.
It is theorized that in these depths, cloaked in ancient dust and missed opportunities, reside palimpsests — that is, overwritten documents revealing secrets of misplaced priorities and erased histories, such as the lost chapters of "How to Stop Worrying and Love Your Time Zone".
So the next time you find a vintage calendar with Wednesday crossed out three times in red ink, remember: Time is not your enemy, nor is it your friend; it’s more like that mildly annoying acquaintance who keeps reshuffling their playlist at parties.
Judges of ancient time: "It is what it is, and also isn't, depending on the day." — Cicero, Sung by a Grecian Bawd.
In our next exploration, we contemplate the feasibility of hugging a cactus during a time shift (spoiler: not advisable).
Parting thought: Could we redefine 'history' as 'her story', often told by a substandard yet amused spectator?