Time simply becomes another eternal thing, to be measured and managed along with everything else. And then, below the measures of objective time, between the beats, there grows the wordless agony of subjective time. It is more like a persistent pressure on the mind that there is always something to be done. Most people I know seem to be rushed, even when I cannot imagine what it is they could be rushed about. Neither, I think, can they.
Time is both death and judgement.
It is death, as it always has been, because its passage brings the erosion of strength that leads to death. It is judgement because it is in time that we work and achieve and, consequently, it is in time that we fail. The passage of time is the measure of lost opportunity and failed effort. At some point, in the middle of all the scheduling and the regrets, one notices that the present has been lost. So one decides to take time out from work, to go on a holiday, to enjoy life.