When I was about 10 years old, maybe younger, I started to become obsessed with Time. I remember one particular moment in which I sat in my family's TV room at our 1970's acrylic bar, with a 'las vegas' ash try in which pretzel sticks sat as I liked to pretend to smoke using these - little did I know then, that this would be a common scene in my early 20's and mid 30's - I sat at the bar with paper and pen figuring out the time changes from winter to spring... and i remember the feeling of depression and anxiety that overwhelmed me. I always thought of time from that moment on. Imagining it in sections and divided into shelves like a library. I began cataloging my life in this way, years or eras packaged in a scrap book and shelved for later memory access. Later in life, in my 20's I began to have great panic and anxiety with time. Either it stretched out too long and my impatience got the better of me, or time melted away so fast I never had a chance to complete the work I wanted to finish, in those days I viewed time as an enemy, and I only accepted the basic understanding of how we are taught to accept.... let's get back to this thought train later.
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