Most of us use routine to parry the day. Then it’s gone. Others like to pack personal adventure or pleasure into the day. Purposeful folks write books or act in plays in which the routine is the quarry. One cannot buy biotime. So the day is a knight with a sharp lance rousing us from bed to perform roles useful to others. That occupation permits us to earn the currency of exchange without an expiration date. We can then buy things that do not degrade in biotime because they are not alive.
Political necessity is the mother of human history. After all, an idea is the least affected by biotime. War is pure idea. Which explains its attractiveness to the thoughtless and those who fear boredom and wasted days. War exchanges human life and labor for days and the invisible pennant of an idea waves above the dead, both just and unjust.