Time is a capitalist construct. That's why I didn't wish you on your birthday.

11 Apr, 2026

Listen, babe, can we talk?

I can see you're upset. And it’s understandable, honestly.

You feel let down because you’ve always planned big, beautiful birthday bashes for me. You had hoped that I’d do something similar, or at least break into song and wish you happy birthday when the clock struck twelve. I didn’t meet any of those expectations today. I get it.

But I don’t think you see where this is all coming from. Maybe because you’re too pure for this world. Perhapse too pure?

So let me help you understand my position. Then you can decide for yourself if you want to stay mad, or join me in my act of rebellion against late-stage capitalism.

Yes, I did say capitalism-

You’ll see how they’re related, babe. Will you please just hear me out?

Thank you! You know how I’ve been reading a ton of Marx lately? (Well, not his own writing, but substacks and tweets that reference his work — which I’d argue are more current, and better suited for the twenty-first century anti-capitalist. I’ll send you some links later.)

After deep research, I realized that the notion of Modern Time was only conceptualised so the capitalist class can better exploit their workers. They took something so indescribable and ethereal, like time, and turned it into chunks of our lives that can be commoditised and sold for profit. Isn't that crazy?

Apparently, back in the day, (you know, during the Civilizations and such) it didn’t use to be this way. Time was cyclical: summer to summer, spring to spring. On cloudy days, sundials were rendered useless. Men would track olympic games and their wife's mood swings to tell time. Or more like, guess time.

Did you know the clock didn’t even have a minute hand until the mid-seventeenth cen—

Yeah, I’m getting there, darling.

You know... your impatience is actually quite telling. It’s amusing how, with or without our knowledge, we all let the capitalist construct of time poison our minds. We somehow feel that we’re always running out of time. But I assure you: we are not!

I want you to, just for a second, imagine a simpler time. Before the invisible hand of the market learned how to strangle the freedom of man. Or, in your case: the freedom of dreamlike woman (with a songlike laugh, which I can’t wait to hear again soon!)

Let’s say you had all the time in the world, or that you had very little, like our great great grandparents who died in their thirties. Would you spend any of it observing meaningless events like new years, anniversaries, or birthdays?

These yearly rituals trick us into believing that our time on earth is linear, babe. The truth is far from it.

One year is six percent of your life when you’re eighteen. But when you’re sixty, that same duration is maybe, I don’t know, two percent?

And when you’re ninety, it’s barely one percent, if you live to do the math.

We’re made to believe that time is linear, and based on this propaganda, we save our best days for our worst years. Imagine you finally get to be a tourist in a walkable city — but by then, you need a walking stick to accompany you on your strolls!

Don’t you think it’s sad how we spend our glory days planning for our sunset years, sweetheart?

What? That doesn’t make you as sad as me forgetting your birthday?

Babe, come on! We save up money, dreams, leisure time, and everything imaginable for a later time! A time that might or might not ever come. We don’t know when we will die! And we only get to realize our dreams after the bourgeoisie have gotten enough use of our bodies and decide to dropkick us into retirement.

This doesn't annoy the hell out of you? Even just a little?

Why should the movement of clocks set the tempo of man’s life? Or, in your case: a woman’s life. A stunning woman with gorgeous curls, luscious lips, and a figure to kill for, if I may add.

Ideally, I want to invent a better system of timekeeping which is more empathetic to the working class, because deserve that. You, more than anyone else. But until then, why not follow a philosophy that would serve us well for the time being?

I don’t know if you’ve heard of this concept...

What if — this might be radical, but hear me out — we Lived, Laughed, and Loved every day as if it were our last?

What if - every day was Mother’s Day; every day Women’s Day; and every single day your birthday? To avoid turning this into a wordy affair, I’m trying to say that every day should be a day worth celebrating you.

Now, tell me, sweetheart, do you really think I forgot your birthday? Or do you recognise my action for what it truly was — a silent protest against the Powers That Be?

What? You still think that I would forget such an important occasion? Unbelievable, baby! I think your emotions are clouding your judgement. Maybe once you calm down and put all the facts together, you’ll see. You’ll see.

You still seem upset, darling. I think we should talk more - that will definitely help. Can I take you out for dinner, and we can continue there? Not to mark another revolution of the earth around the sun, but to mark my love for you on a random Tuesday.

And um... we could go to that fancy sushi restaurant you said you wanted to try.

Now there’s that famous smile!

I’m going to get dressed. I’ll still look underdressed next to you, but hopefully, I’ll get points for trying.

Remember, baby? I once asked you if you were drawn to my looks or my wit, and you said that it was my political views that you fell for. I am the same man you fell in love with. I used to express my love by planning birthday parties for you. Now I’m expressing my love by not planning birthday parties for you.

Nothing else has changed.

What?! You? Drive? On this… random Tuesday? I will not have it! I’ve ordered a limousine service to pick us up, they will be here any moment now.

After you, my lady.

Now all this to say, I’m sorry I forgot your birthday, baby girl. I will give you Princess Treatment for the next 364 days to make up for this. I also emailed you an Amazon gift card so you can buy yourself anything you like, unshackled by my questionable taste in worldly objects.

Got thoughts?

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#humor