…one hour into the past or the future (except for the clock on the oven and the clock in the car and the clock on the old-school AM/FM radio I insist on keeping by my bed, which I have to remember to change myself, likely after I’ve already panicked about the time), I feel briefly unmoored, floating, like everything and nothing is possible, like life is a big, weird joke, like I’m living in the painful, hilarious moment after hitting my funny bone, and I wish the feeling would end, and then it does, and then I wish it didn’t.