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Twenty.
A Self-Indulgent Bit of Drib-Drab That Might Also Make You Think…Just Maybe.
The number isn’t all that meaty on its own, but it’s no mere three-hundred-sixty-five. It can encompass a lifetime or act as just a beginning. You could fall in love, marry, have crumb-munchers, divorce, and die five times over, all within twenty years, and without any sweats given! Well, maybe not die, depending on your definition. Or, you could sit around and slowly fiddle your thumbs…wondering what happened to the time.
7,305 days can pass by like a polaroid — the memory of it taken, instantly developed, and just as instantly faded… damaged by light and the random flotsam and jetsom you keep stored alongside the snapshot.*
*Purses/bags/wallets/keepsake boxes being purses/bags/wallets/keepsake boxes and all.
In retrospect, the time spent agonizing over the day-to-days has mostly been a waste of time (in the grand scheme, of course!). In the moment, we’re consumed. Consumed with the work, and the bills, and the idea of being in a relationship (notice I said idea of), and the bills. But ask any non-crotchety elder (preferably non-crotchety) what they wish they had done more of, etc.
