There is this idea about 2018 that has infiltrated our collective consciousness - that Time sort of went on coffee break last Jan and has just been dipping unpredictably in and out since then, occasionally checking items off it’s to-do list, but generally leaving us to our own devices.
Basically, the year felt like it would never, ever, fucking, end, but also the last day of every month seemed to immediately follow the first day of that same month, and between none and 70 exhausted crashes into bed fit somewhere in between.
I saw a theory that it’s because the news just. keeps. coming. and it’s wearing us all out, but that doesn’t really explain the flexibility aspect of it, does it?
Of course there’s also the theory that the world really did end in 2012 and we’re … what, in hell? We’re the remainder of our race’s genetic memory just holding on tight and doing a worse and worse job?
Anyway. HAPPY NEW YEAR MAY THE UNITS OF TIME BE THE LENGTH WE EXPECT THEM TO BE.