You know what really bothers me (other than dogs dressed like humans)? The fact that time can either be your best friend or your worst enemy at any given moment. Time is time and moves at the exact same rate every day, day in and day out (well, except for during the vernal equinox and leap year, but I digress...). So why is it that at 6:39am I am so grateful that the minutes on my snooze pass like molasses, and yet at 1:57pm I want to pull my hair out because 1:58pm doesn't seem to exist? Same minutes. Very different contexts.
Ponder me this: on a good day, it takes me 7-8 minutes to drive to work. When I'm in shape, it takes me 7-8 minutes to run a mile. The average wait time at the Bradley Starbucks on a Friday morning is 7-8 minutes. I shower in 7-8 minutes. Pasta cooks in 7-8 minutes. 7-8 minutes in a tanning bed leaves me slightly golden.
And yet, in hopes of wasting time, I disregarded my work responsibilities and wrote this ENTIRE post -- in 7-8 minutes. *sigh*
Hey lookee there! It's 2:03pm.