Oh, the agony of being so close to a day that means so much. I can't think of a better example of the capacity of the mind to preside over happiness. Just the thought of it and I am in a condition that nothing in my present (dull) environment could generate.
If each day and hour is equal to the next, then it must be my own doing, this eternity. But then why can't I make it go by faster? I feel like I am in a cryogenic bubble, watching everyone move so quickly but feeling distinctly frozen nonetheless. Come quick and get me out!
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