I’m enjoying my solar-powered dreams, even if the sunshine keeps me awake all night. It’s almost a win-win situation, like working overtime on an undertaker’s graveyard shift. Mr. Machine says that in order to be successful, we’ve got to march sideways into the future, so I’m wearing an invisible spacesuit and Day-Glo moon socks as I climb slantwise into my transparent time machine. Yes, it’s propelled by atomic clocks, but not the atomic bomb kind, so you can rest assured, although it might be a little difficult for you to fully relax. Personally, I’m looking forward to the side effects. Back in the day, before the invention of the clock, nobody knew the time, especially night watchmen. As the moon rose over the lunar calendar and the leap years leapt over themselves, we humans wandered around disoriented and bewildered. Some were known to ask, Where did the time go? Others were relieved to learn they were having the time of their lives. Still, others lingered mournfully, never quite sure when the drugs would take effect.

Futurists are better than historians at predicting the past. And they’re way better for the planet than economists. After all, how much money do you really need? In my personal overestimation, enough is enough, although it’s not my problem, so don’t blame me. Just because I’m double parked on this one-way street, doesn’t mean I don’t know which way the wind blows. In fact, thanks to the runaway stagflation, my balloon payments shrunk, and my pants legs are only half the length they used to be. It’s not the crimes that you commit that matter – it’s the crimes that get prosecuted. So, no need to worry, most of those holes in your bullet-proof bucket list are bound to buff right out. Stop treating them like a chore. Like I said the other day to my personal injury attorney: Just because I’m a visitor from the future, doesn’t mean I’m in a big hurry to hang around here in the past.