Being and time

Whenever Wimbelina settles on my lap, she's settling there for good. To the uninitiated onlooker it may appear as if she only stays on it for a wee while, while the truth of the matter is, she never leaves it. Not if she can help it, that is.
In her own green green eyes, there are at most minor interruptions, some inconsequential matters on her to-do list to sort out and be done with ASAP before getting down to real business. That's when she'll settle and camp on and colonize my lap, tail, teeth and talons.
So sure is she of her vocation in life, that she'll react vehemently against any change to status quo. And so I can forget all about moving my limbs or stirring a muscle while she lounges on me, even at the peril of a blood cloth in my veins.
Should you thus find me someday right here, strapped to the same seat of torture, cramped in the same catatonic posture, you can guess the reason why.
The same way a thousand years are but a flickering moment to God, so are all unlapped moments to Wimbelina. They simply don't amount to anything much.BEING equals being on my lap. And having the good times while having them.