Time. The final frontier. The one thing we can almost simultaneously have too much and too little of. Both equally tragic. There's times when I think I'd never see the end of something, can't wait for it to be over, wishing I could reach escape velocity and break free from time's grasp. There's other times I find yourself mulling over "if I spend two minutes a day waiting for a bus, that means I waste a whole hour every month. A whole hour!!! DAMN!!!". For completely different reasons, though, there are times when I wish time would stop whooshing by, to smell the roses, as the saying goes. Once in a while, I get a chance, and guess what, I smell manure instead of the roses that grow in it. Bleah.
Tick tock, tick tock. Every minute I sweep under the rug is a ticking little time bomb, and the ticking's driving me nuts! Where's that light at the end of the tunnel when you need one?
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