It's day. It's night. It's something in-between.
Does time even matter anymore?
You move forward. You move back. You are propelled by measures you are no longer marking.
Your hope turns on a dime, it quivers and dissipates. You are once again restless, anxious, uncomfortable. And as energy morphs into listlessness and your emotions ricochet, the inexorable march of the clock ticks on and on and on and on regardless.
You want this to be over now.
You are tired of waking in darkness and sleeping through light. You are tired of documenting and being documented.
'You I measure, as I measure time' becomes an indictment on your character. You no longer measure up - time has got the better of you.
You don't know what things look like - nor what they mean. Just what exactly are you? A human clock? An occupier of time? You check your watch incessantly but still never seem to quite know what the time is. Is that success or failure?
'What is this now, the now as I look at my watch?'
You genuinely consider giving up. You're tired and kind of over it. You're not sure this crazy thing is worth it. A technical failure mars everything.
The isolation gets to you. As does the constant accounting for time. Time often passes and nothing happens, yet now every second past is a second wasted // one second longer than the other, and that one cuts the deepest.
An hour passes. Two. Time no longer counted by a clock or by light, but instead by a series of transitions. Another routine based upon action. The system isn't gone, it's just replaced by another. Time drifts past dreamlessly and you feel suspended.
You understand that the end is closer now but not close enough to count on yet.