sometimes it does not matter how time passes, but that it passes. when in the pit, the great chasm, the yawning crevasse of day to day life, time may seem like an aeon, yet we bemoan the squandering of time, we lament its passing each year like a doomsday clock, counting down, chipping away at our apparent insignificance, chewing at wounds inflicted, lost in murky shallows of yesteryear, seeking another year, another day, another chance … … …