A second works fine for me as a second.  A minute works as a minute.  After all, they’re so short, what should we expect.

And a day works as a day.  Long enough.  At the end of one, I’m ready for it to be winding down.

But an hour, that’s where it breaks down.  The hours never seem long enough.  I expect more from my hours.

Perhaps that’s the problem–expectation.  Or perhaps there are just not enough minutes in an hour.


Dante the wolfhound from Pam Houston’s Sight Hound:

In any case, wolfhounds don’t measure life
in terms of days and years,
because for a wolfhound,
every minute is right now,
and every minute lasts forever.

Just imagine.