Now, I don't mean that you'll be hoping in Tardisses or Cronospheres and popping around history like a flea on crack ("Your picture next to Jesus on the Cross, $10!"). I mean that you will be the master of your slumber, not that cruel overlord Mr. Sun.

"But wait!" you cry, "I am my own master". Balderdash.

You're nailed to the rest of the nation's eight hour sleep cycle like a bug on a pin. They decide when to open the office, when school is taught, when prime time is on, when breakfast hour ends, when you can't buy beer any more... the works! Sure there are things you can do to break it up, grasp at bits and pieces of control here and there... but in the long haul... they'll break you. I heard that Richard Feynman managed it, but hell, he was a first class loonie. I respect him for it, he could kick my butt righteously 25 ways to Sunday, but still, he was a class one grade A atom-smoking loonie. What's that? You think you're on par with Feynman? Take two steps back before I slap you around.

There, there... Stop blubbering... I'm sure my posturing didn't frighten you... I'm sure those are tears of frustration over realizing the hell that the great swarming masses have pigeon-holed you into. That's ok. Now... don't cry... here, have a hanky... I'll tell you something that will make it all better. You're going to be a time master. Honest, it's not something special; it's just inevitability.

The world is getting smaller, there are more of us each and every day. On the freak chance that you've spotted some free space to visit, in pointing it out to a friend you've probably poked a neighbor in the eye. And you know, it's only going to get worse (well, unless Bush gets into a pissing contest with China, then maybe we'll have some quick quick thinning of the ranks). Soon we'll be packed in, around and on top of everyone else. Apartment buildings mile high, and under the water too. Not a drop of land to stretch out in, and no where to go to be away from everyone else.

"That's dreadful!" you say, "We're all doomed". You're such a pessimist. You really are. There's a silver lining to this population explosion. Silver? Nay, Golden! If we're not going to have a where to put all these people, we'll have a when to place them! They're already doing it with large factories, and school lunch shifts, so soon they'll be doing it with all factors of life. Three shifts a day! Want to keep that night-owl persona but you've got a bouncing baby boy? That's ok... we'll enroll him in night kindergarten. Got a hanker'n for some pancakes and tri-tip... p'shaw, it ain't no thing, just order from the dinner menu and the breakfast menu. Those noon-bastards posting about how super their "Survivor IX" series is? Pah, don't make me laugh; they got nothing on the daybreakers' crime-drama "Dawn in L.A."

To much to embrace? Hard to figure? Nonsense. You're already half way there pumpkin. The internet has held your hand and shown you the way of it. They're never asleep in internet land. There's always someone willing to chat with you every hour of the day, or people willing to play games with you. Sure, they might be French, but so what, they're there and they're awake. Infact soon they may not be French, they could be Mrs. Barnaby, down the road, or they could be that young man you're forced to sublet your house to while you're out at work at the night shift.