And at the end of the day, he looked at the large pile of once glittering dust near the base of his ticking clock.
Each grain all that was left of the essence of opportunity once contained within the minute hand, now shook off with by the inevitable onward march of time and resting unused on the hardwood floor.
With regret in one hand and desperation in the other, our tragic hero swept up the contents and placed them in a jar. The jar was labeled - progress never made - and placed upon a shelf. The shelf was quite massive and housed other jars with similar labels.
Best intentions never acted on.
Curiosities never fed.
Good times not fully enjoyed.One might look upon the contents of such a shelf and bemoan the number of sad curios our procrastinator had collected. His despair, however, did not live with the jars already placed; but rather with the empty spaces between them. Knowing that they would soon be filled. With one weakness, or another ...
The torture of such a collection would one day drive him mad.
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