I have 19 minutes to kill. Nineteen minutes to use. I have nineteen minutes with which I can do just about anything. For now, I choose to write. Why not? That way, at least, at some point, I can relive these nineteen minutes again. At the moment I have that untethered feeling that one gets occasionally when the world seems quite large, large enough to make it impossible to get back to the ground that you feel comfortable walking on. But, we walk on nevertheless, despite the styrofoam under our feet. It squeaks and shifts under our toes, so frustrating. It requires all of one’s energy, every kilocalorie of entropy-laden metabolism just to make the scenery change. Forging onward through the foam I go, in hopes that a like-minded soul may lie behind the next bend, willing to bear the weight of my swollen limbs until I can regain my composure. To set a course, my friends, that is really the only thing to do now. It’s imperative, lest we wander in this mire forever! And… nineteen minutes… TIME!