It wasnβt a normal day. It was an average one. But what is normalcy other than an acknowledged frequency of averages?
Maddening consensus seemed to be, at least anymore, that our collective experiences of linear time were going off the rails. And not just in the customary ways of routine or aging. Weeks condensing into days, months becoming weeks, years months, and infinitely so on. It was all so fantastically catastrophic to take in- if you could muster the presence of mind and the spare, fleeting moment.
Nobody remembers how or when it began. Everybody used to be so busy, but now keeping up with the times had become a fundamentally meaningless expression. We never valued our time until it was gone. As has often been the way of such things. It wasnβt until it all began racing at such an unmatchable pace that the sundry hollow nothings with which we once littered so much of it began revealing their ultimate futility and obsolescence.
Everyone lived in the awesome and terrifying moment. Not in any transcendental sense, but quite literally. It was the only place everything could be.