I totally lost track of time, but by that I don’t mean I lost track of the immediate hour, minute, or cluster of seconds which cling tenaciously to the face of the wristwatch cinched to my left arm. Instead, I couldn’t decipher whether I was living in the past, present, or future—Honest to God I couldn’t; it was crazy; it really was!—and this conundrum left me feeling plussed and profoundly bewildered. I was a temporal pilgrim with no direction to turn that didn’t feel strange and foreign; I was lost with no idea where I was, let alone where my true home might lie. But why should this seem odd to a discerning reader? After all, it is a well-established fact that we inhabitants of the Universe live on the cutting edge of a spacetime continuum, and if one can readily get lost in the space plane of that continuum—And who amongst us hasn’t at some random point in their lifetime?—then why should it seem weird and illogical that one might just as easily get lost in the time milieu as well?
Fred's Soapbox 