6:43 p.m. | 2002-09-15 Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock. The sound resonates within my head as it marks the passage of time. I glance up from my book hoping to see if four hours of time has passed. Only five minutes have ticked away; two hours since I last took my medication. According to the clock. Judging by my piercing migraine, searing hands, the needles in my back, and the random but steady muscle spasms that course through my body, it�s been eight, ten, twelve hours since I last swallowed the rather innocuous, yet necessary, tablets that soothe but don�t relieve my pain and convulsing muscles. I don�t want soothing. I want relief. I don�t have anything that will relieve this discomfort. I can only distract myself. And wait. I return to my reading but it�s interrupted by the steady rhythm of minutes being counted and discarded. I want to treasure every minute yet I want them to evaporate until two more hours have passed. Just so I can be soothed for a quarter-hour before the passage of time settles into my eardrums, once again, making it difficult to concentrate. I remind myself of the brevity of two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes. Of how, sometimes, two hours is too short. Of how, sometimes, it�s too long. Of how shameful and selfish it is to wish that time would pass expediently solely for my comfort. While many people in the world are hoping that the next two hours pass as slowly as possible because these are moments to treasure. Every minute is a gift for someone. So, I�ll make every tick a moment of pain and every tock a moment of beauty. Maybe that will make the passage of time resonate more harmoniously. your thoughts? seed flower