17 minutes to go.
I'm not ready.
I'm not prepared.
A new century. A new millenium.
When I was a boy, I marked this date as some kind of milestone.
I was going to see fireworks. I was going to be celebrating. I was going to be living life to the fullest.
Instead I merely note, bitterly, the arbitrary demarcation of useless units of time.
Everyone is having a party.
I wasn't invited.
10 minutes to go.