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.

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