I Got Your Time Machine Right Here, H.G.!

It’s gettin’ like a D’Angelo video shoot in here.

My Dad and I were talking yesterday about how much faster time goes once you have a kid. He kinda of laughed, remembering, I think, how much his world sped up after I was born. Time seems to go faster as we get older, I’m totally aware of that. But, now, after the kid, time hasn’t just sped up, it has exploded.
Actually, well, let me (and you’ll have to stick with me here) put it this way: There’s this toilet. It doesn’t use water, it uses heat. You do your business, close the lid, flip a switch, and — fa-pooom! — yesterday’s lunch becomes a little pile of gray ash. Incinerated! And, that, my friends is what a kid does to time.
Don’t take this the wrong way. I do not see the post-kid time in my life as being “flushed” down a fire-y toilet. It just seems like — fa-poom! — today is over; fa-pooom! It’s already tomorrow. Fa-poom! Max is in grade school. You get the point.
I guess I now know why Dad spent so much time on the can with the Sunday Fargo Forum.