I know I don't post journal much, well, unless I'm going on a hiatus, or something of the sort.

But this isn't that.


In the past few days, I've noticed something pretty interesting. Time.
Now, I know it isn't novel, or even a new invention, but it was something that I hadn't really taken into thought until someone brought up that it had been forever, a term that I haven't used since I was young.

Time really didn't seem to move before that, seconds taking an almost unending amount of years to pass, yet now I see it in a different view. It hadn't really dawned on me when I was referenced as "just still a baby" by an older woman at the blood bank (it was when she was talking to people about the apheris process) when I was too young to give. But I'm sure I'm not the only person that notices how long, or even how short one hundred years is, right? Yeah, I'm sure I'm not. That's a definite.

But, I guess, what I'm trying to get at, if anything, is what makes the world go so slow in times like these? Or even so fast that you don't see the calenders turn month by month, or the clock hour by hour. It's been more than interesting for me to look at the way people deal with it, although at lunch today, two friends of mine where discussing something that I couldn't quite wrap my head around. I tried grasping at the answer, but with the allotted time I had, I was unable to get any sort of hold on it. What makes us become frustrated at the time we have on earth? That, I'm sure, is what this journal is about.

What is time, really? Is it just a figment, a ruse, a play of our own words, or is it something that beckons us all, even if it is going slower than what we can stand? Well, whatever that might be, I know that don't know, but maybe someday... In life, in death, who knows.