| Current mood: | disappointed |
| Current music: | Metallica - Ride the Lightning |
T+168:00:00
Time plus One-hundred sixty-eight hours.
1 Week. What's so special about it? Nothing really. It's just another arbitrary unit of measure to remember something by. One week ago, etc... Add on about three more and it's a month. Add on about 11 more of those and it's a year. About ten of those for a decade, and ten of those for a century, and then ten centuries for a millennium. What's after that? I don't know. I don't want to. It doesn't really matter though. I expect to be gone long before a century. Hell, there's no guarantee I'm going to make it to a month.
The thing that's special about arbitrary measures of time from an event is the event itself. In my case, a not so fun little fiasco. I can't get it out of my head. I'm so completely confused. I don't know where to turn or whether or not to trust anymore. Is something built on substance or on deception? I don't know, and that fact alone makes me horribly sad. I suppose I'll know before too much longer.
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