It's been going by at a steady rate, which is unusual to me. Normally it drags on, or I can feel it whisking by. Lately, it's been a steady trickle, and I'm unnerved at just how aware I've been of that. I haven't gotten much of anything done, and the little victories I seem to be prizing apart from each day are adding up to almost nothing. It's life, I suppose, but it's not been this idle for me before. I took a look out the window today and saw the sun shining across our old wooden fence. It's in a pretty solid state of repair, but it's also pretty old, and a little worn. There's a mimosa tree growing through the slats on one end, and ivy chokes the rest of it. The grass, the ivy, and even the tree were such a vibrant green that part of me wondered if that was all I would do that day. Just stare at the grass. At the end of the day, it really felt like it was all I had achieved, and I'm also pretty confused at the fact that part of me feels alright with that. Time just keeps moving, leaving all of us behind. Is it really okay to just watch the grass grow with it sometimes? When does sometimes become too often? When do we slip into a state where time whisks us away with it, and we're so idle we don't notice?