The digital clock seemed to freeze, it's yellow-green glowing hue demanding my acknowledgement, yet again. I don't remember exactly when it happened. When the clock changed from a neutral observer into a foe of immense, silent wrath. But it's of no consequence now. All that matters is surviving this unyielding battle of life and stagnation that we are locked into, but I seem to be losing more ground than I ever gain.
So blasé, yet so menacing. Our never-ending tête-à-tête goes on, as does my regression in the face of it. Over time, as the weeks stretched into months I thought tuning it out might protect me from its ravages, but instead it proliferated. The clock is ubiquitous. Everywhere I go inside my home, it creeps up and demands we face one another. This foe never rests, it just bides it time until our next skirmish. It asks for no armistice, nor reconciliation. Only surrender, and surrender I fear means certain death.
The weight of all the lost days is taking its toll on an already weakened resolve. This is my living purgatory, and this struggle my penance. Forced to fight a foe that always advances, and never yields. Leaving me bewildered, and in a state of constant tribulation. The malevolent silence of the clock a constant reminder of my powerlessness.
I may look the same, but this visage is merely the apparition of my once jovial, carefree existence. Of the man I was when this all began. It's become untenable, and my will to oppose my opponent has greatly waned. As the clock tics off another moment, I curse it's morbid humor, and finally give in to its truth. What else is to be done?