by Nic Olson

I’ve never traveled through time. I was in a theatrical production in my grade nine year, I was Professor Filby, and I invented the time machine. Although I look back on that production thinking that I could have put more of myself behind my acting, I did memorize an entire novel of lines, and looked good while doing it. My time machine was composed of a laptop glued to a wheel chair with a giant lever that started up the machine. I still never traveled through time. Until today. We climbed the Mont-Royal, canvas shoes and thin boots up a sixty degree incline of loose leaves and crystallized snow, following directions from a winey source, down the cross, straight from the Big O. We located the low fire just down from the main path, and arrived in a time warp. The time jumped into a new frame, and we traveled with it.

It is Daylight Savings Time in Eastern Standard Time. I’ve never lived in a place that considered this a good idea. Saskatchewan is always the right time. India has the same time across the entire country and doesn’t ever change. That is how you know you live in the right place, when the sun shines on it at proper times at all times, and you don’t have to change an entire institution of indefinite continued progress of existence and confuse the masses.

I woke up at 11am, but I don’t know if it was noon or not. I would expect all of my Apple products to change the time themselves, they practically type these blogs for me, I would be surprised if they couldn’t change my clock based on an internationally recognized system. I don’t wear a watch, so I don’t know what time it was. Good thing I don’t have a job to be late for. Traveling through time isn’t as amazing as you would expect it to be. The future is the same as the past, only slightly more confusing and smells like a bonfire.