There's nine hours left in the day and all the queues are cleared. I'm listening to music on Grooveshark - ooh check out my nifty little widget, it's purdy.
Today makes two weeks, six days. How on Earth does that even compute? Did we enter a rip in the continuum that somehow only altered time for the two of us? It feels that way, for sure. We've crammed quite a lot in those two weeks, maybe that's it. When I look at that number I feel like I'm losing my mind. It feels like months since we took her to California, but not so much. We left two weeks, four days ago. It feels like eons ago I was making an ass out of myself on a circle of rigidly formed H2O. A rip in the continuum, I could believe that. I'm believing everything else; what's a teeny-tiny rip in the fabric of time?
I think I'm going to try and write some poetry. You'll have to check out the poetry blog of mine for that, hey look - this one's short too!