Quickening.

.
.
I may have explained, especially in the worst of my illness, that life seemed to pass by quite slowly.  Oh, sure, I mouth the common phrase, about how time seems to fly when we get older.  But that isn't true.  Not for me.  Each week like months, each day like weeks, each hour, each minute, even each second, seems to be their own little lifespan.  The only thing that seems to speed time is when I have much to do and a hard limit, like needing to pack the car and be out for something at a specific time, on an exact day, more so if travel is involved.  That last day or two can go excruciatingly fast, which is why I usually don't sleep, and can even work and drive for 24, even 48 hours sometimes.  Time has been compacted.

As I get better, I thought that might change.  I thought a day would become more normal, or even that I would have the sense that time was slipping away.  I worried about this, as I have been digging out of the grave the last few years.  I wasn't going to let the worry throw me, certainly wouldn't let the fact change my course, if it came to pass.  Odd thing though, that is not the problem.

Actually, time has slowed even more.  The perception of it.  As when I was ill, only now more aware of more moments, and they stack just as before, in a cascade of seeming eons.  Time has slowed to a near standstill to my mind.  Beyond being more aware of more moments and sequences of moments alone, I am also branching out into those moments, making each one fuller still.  In one sense, this is good.  I can plan, function, track, organize, and do... seemingly instantaneously.  I can do that sideways in time, tack it to the past for reference and to adjust heading, and then direct those into the future.

Time, for me, is not what it seems.  I see that coming back to life, or at least beginning the process of breaking through my virtual coffin, rattling the chains that bind me, is changing much.  I have no idea if it affects the world in any way.  If the dreams or thoughts are true, perhaps it is.  Though I doubt if most who draw breath would be able to perceive it.  I wonder if it is just of the mind, or if biological... mechanical... dexterity really... is also improving.  I simply don't have a means of measuring that, not yet.  Even if I am slower than most, currently, without having something to compare from a year ago, or five, and then next year, I can't know.  I suspect, in time, I will see if response times and physical nimbleness are improving.  My senses are good enough to note it, if not quantify it as I can with a tightening belt, they just hadn't been looking for it.

I have... had worse.  Much worse, I suppose.

Odd.  Time.  Me.  Maybe you.  *tick-tock, tick...-tock, tick........................-tock, tick-∞*