it’s amazing to me how some days seem interminably long. you go through your day, staring at the clock in disbelief that it’s only [insert whatever unbelievable hour] o’ clock it is. and then the next thing, the week is actually over. and you don’t remember what you did that week, if you wore the same pants twice that same week (likely), if you did the laundry (highly unlikely), if you’ve run out of onesies (highly likely: see the “if” surrounding laundry), if you’ve watered the plant (unlikely, but hey, you don’t have plants so that’s all well and good), or whether you’ve checked the mail (highly unlikely).
and then you sit to type out a blog entry and all you can think about is the fact that time has gone by so quickly that your nails are about, oh i don’t know, samarui sword length and now typing is a loud, awkward clacking activity. you think about where in the world the fingernail clippers are and you realize that somewhere during the day you saw them, but you can’t remember where because the day was so long. and it was so long ago since you saw them last though you could swear, if you did swear, that you clipped your nails only what you thought was yesterday.
time is a funny thing. or perhaps my nails are made of miracle gro.