March 5 -An Hour Trapped In Time

As I drifted sweetly into the pontification of Oscar Wilde, or rather should I say it is his words, from the mouth of the Lord Henry Wotton, I pondered a thought. It is one of the most spine shrilling thoughts that have entered my conscious brain. Normally, themes such as these are more apt to enter the subconscious where I wake confused and nervous, but not anxious and scared. As I slipped away from focus on the novel, setting aside my 64ghz Ipad (1st) edition, I tilted my head back and imagined it.

What if time actually stopped?

I thought about this and in doing so, imagined myself in the scene.

At first I couldn't help but to be excited. The possibilities were endless. I could rattle off an entire book, submit it to an editor, and be 15 pages onto the next one before they got around to reading it. This would of course be able to happen because as time stood still for me, it forced onward in its typically rushed way for everyone else. As people struggled to fit in work and pleasure, I merely decided to mix both of them together without fear or consequence of them interrupting each other. Of course I tended to partake in the pleasure aspect more often.

Time was unaltered in tangible terms. The clock was not moving, nor were the digital numbers above my stove adjusting their lines to make new ones. Was time progressing? Was I getting older? If this persisted would I go through an entire year in literally no time, but still grow the gray hairs I should. Does my facial hair grow along with my fingernails or do do they stagnant? I began to panic slightly, due to all the questions I have conjured up. Hardly one hour of time, to the best of my ability to know, had gone by and I was already concerned about the outcome of this situation. Surely, I could handle having one full day where time did not progress for me, and in an instant, like a machine it came back on. But could I endure it longer? Could the metaphysical phenomenon continue defying every law that human nature abides by?

I began to sweat. I paced unknowingly around the 12ft by 16 ft living room/kitchen combination. I tried to focus on the sun, to see if it changed positions. I cant remember where it was located just a "presumed" hour ago! I believe I could see more than half of it beyond the rooftop of the slightly pretentious looking apartment building from my second floor location, but maybe not. Maybe it is in the same exact spot. Does the world continue to rotate, or is it fixated on its axis refusing to move as it should.

Has it been an hour?

I begin to sweat a little more and reach for my cellular phone. The time still says 2:13pm Eastern time, the same it did when this whole disgustingly frightening experience began. What started to appear as a means to an end of always being rushed, has now got me searching under furniture for answers that I am not sure have real questions. I cannot breath. The sweat hits the fake wood floor as I am adjusting the missoni poof, a decorative furnishing I never found use for in the first place. I reach for the paper towels to wipe it up, but the sweat from my palms dampen the cloth which now fails to serve its purpose.

My cell phone refuses to complete any function that will help me. I can watch a film, take a photo, even schedule an event, but why would I need to do that without the concept of time? My heart skips seven beats. I feel as if it is beating simultaneously with the snare drums of a southern college marching band. I start to lose focus again as I am blinded by the sun, still trying to figure out if it has moved. I try to draw a line with chapstick on the window where I see it now, I can come back to it shortly and measure. There is a solution, good thinking...I stop sweating a bit.

The clock is still not moving, something that I have not looked at in "I don't know how many make believe" minutes. I find myself referring to god passively under my breath. I am asking for a sign, some piece to the puzzle to help me get out of this time capsule that probably looks like a time release pill tablet. I run to the bathroom and dunk my head under the faucet of the bathtub. I'm wet, but refuse to dry off, the cold air against my damned head soothes my fleeing mind for a few second. I still feel as if I may faint as I sprint barely 3 yards to the window to examine my chapstick experiment with the sun. It is melting a little bit, and I begin to cry, or is it more sweat? I do not know. My heart picks up pace again from it's temporary reprieve in a timeless world. The main living area in my apartment seems to be more like one of those rides at the carnival that spin you fast enough to be stuck motionless to the wall. I put my hands on my head as it is the only motion that I can find the strength to do, the forces are too strong. I scream for help. I hear a click, faintly over the sound of my own heart beat.

The clock moves. It is now 3:14.