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Kronos Time 8:25am: I’m stuck in an elevator with Marlon McFlatulent. A 45-second ride complete with noxious venom permeating the air. Oh how I enjoy inhaling your rectal vapours, sir. I especially enjoy the odor’s likeness to George X doubles.

Kronos Time 8:57am: The yellow post-it that covers the thermostat switch that says, “Do NOT Touch” has been moved. Some benighted dimwit deprived of sweat glands, who wears sweaters in hundred degree weather, turned the temperature up. What a fatuous nimrod.

Kronos Time 10:10am: I’m here doddering on the brink of heat stroke, and the smell of burnt popcorn starts to invade my nostrils. Do people not realize that acrid, scorched kernels smell like a mixture of death and swine? Seriously, it is no better than the smell of fanny oils after going an entire week sans shower. Microwaving popcorn is a delicate beast, fools. The extra two seconds you leave it in there, can cause your colleagues lung cancer.

Kronos Time 11:12am: I remember that it’s staff potluck day and someone has laid out a pathetic bag of potato chips. Listen up, skinflints, no one rides for free. If you’re gobbling, you should be offering.

Kronos Time 3:09pm: The printer gets jammed. Enough said.

Kronos Time 5:13pm: My three-year old asks me forty five times in the space of one second to turn on the fan. Three, is the age between sloth-like helplessness and semi-rationality that can make any parent feel like using some mushrooms- not the comestible kind.


Kronos time is clock time that can be measured- seconds, minutes, hours, years. The excruciating minutes in traffic, the two hours more to go before bedtime, the one second in which your toddler repeats something eight hundred times. Kronos time is the arduous, interminable, energy-suck time that can consume our essence.

Kairos time measures moments. It is qualitative. Kairos refers to the few moments which take your breath away. The opportune ones, the right ones, the perfect ones, the ones where the world takes a breath, and in the silence before it exhales, you are suddenly freed from your colorless Kronos-filled day.

Kairos are the moments in which your toddler douses her naughty baby brother with a million kisses-turned-hickeys and exclaims, “Chill ya blood, rasta!” And, the moments immediately following, where she says, “Mama, I seem to be in an existential quandary (pronounced: exishell quannary).” Evidence that she’s been watching too many episodes of The Big Bang Theory, or Uncle Sheldon, as she endearingly calls the show.

They are the moments in which you’re crying with laughter and the concept of Kronos time disappears from your thoughts.

They are the moments that are effervescent with meaning.

May our lives be eternally twinkled with Kairos moments. May our focus shift to only these.