I have recently come to the realization that I have mammoth beef with time. It never stops ticking away, and frankly, the fact that it ticks to begin with seems to be a glaringly obvious attempt on time’s part to piss off humanity with its cheerful ticks.

In my mind’s scheme of things, time can be personified, and I liberally choose to believe that it is out to get us. Now, consider how many charming representations time can take. It can be in the form of a rooster cock-a-doodle-do-ing merrily on the farm; it can be in the form of an Americana cat clock with a wagging tail; it can even be in the form of the beautiful and cheery sun or of luminous, breathtaking stars. Whatever attractive guise it chooses to wear, do not be fooled — time is up to no good.

How many of you have found yourselves in the dead of winter, in the most cozy corner of the house, in your favorite sweatshirt, with your favorite person, cuddling under the warmest blanket, eating your favorite food for such an occasion (be it macaroni and cheese, porridge or marshmallows) … then, all of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye, you catch something so peripherally unpleasant you almost wish your eyes had lied? It is the clock. The clock says 4 p.m. Aha! Four is 20 minutes before your last class of the day. So you end up scrambling out of what can only be called a symphony of tangled blankets and sheets, to face the bitch-slap of a cold northeastern wind hitting your face simultaneously from all different directions. WHY TIME?! WHY?!

Ever since childhood, time has been at our backs. The nagging housewife running around with a spatula … named TIME.

A nostalgic example: you’re in the sea, wearing a pink and yellow polka-dotted bathing suit, and you have initiated an underwater tea party with your best friends. You’re the host that day, pouring invisible cups of tea for your company, passing around imaginary crumpets and scones, when all of a sudden you hear the distorted sound of your mother’s voice ashore, screaming, “HEY, IT’S TIME TO GET OUT! YOU’VE BEEN IN THERE TOO LONG AND YOU’RE GOING TO GET SICK!”

It doesn’t seem morally right that time could possibly try and restrict a happy-go-lucky hostess during a very important underwater engagement. Then why does it happen? Why can’t time just put down the spatula and take a nap rather than beat you over the head with it all the live-long day?

What about something even bigger than a nautical scone-fest? What about witnessing someone you deeply care about with every fiber of yourself get sucked into the war because of a slip of paper with an enlistment date? You are over 18, you are out of high school, it’s your turn … time says so.

I’m not trying to crawl into a fetal position on my dorm room floor and appropriately bawl about the unfairness of time, but I can’t help but feel like it holds us back, pushes us forward or takes something away from us without our consent.

And no matter what it masquerades as — be it a rooster’s crow or a chime — it will never stop interrupting our lives, while paradoxically integrating with it.

Reina Berger is a freshman English major. Invite her to a never-ending sea tea party and she’s yours.