diver/time divider

This blank screen has been taunting me for too long. And by "too long" I mean five minutes max. I have only been sitting here for five minutes? I guess this is an example of five minutes feeling like twenty. Or an eternity. Or does it matter? Because like I previously mentioned, time is an abstraction, but our bones are not. So maybe I was sitting here, a bunch of bones encased in dry skin, feeling like time was holding me hostage when in fact it was my own thoughts and my own mind making me miserable. I am not miserable, though. Please do not worry! I am just drained a little, a little bit struggling with the wintertime blues, a little late to this whole game of life. Just joking. I don't even know what it means to be late to the game of life. It's a game? Since when? Games include timers and buzzers and colorful little pegs. Life gives us timers and buzzers and pegs, but it also gives us heartache and horror and hours spent hiding away from the aforementioned. Did I mention I am not sad? Not in the traditional sense. I am not currently crying my eyes out. I am not sitting in a dark room with my head pressed up against a wall. No, I am warming up my feet on the heater vent and practicing breathing techniques. Did you know that the world record for holding one's breath underwater is 20 minutes and 21 seconds? Don't tell me that you knew that because you didn't. But do tell me that you will practice the art of breath holding with me so that we will remain vibrant and alive when the dams break. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. I could force myself to reread this. I could make myself become an editor and revise the untidy, confusing, frustrating parts. I could clean up quite nicely if I tried. Tonight, however, I will let you wander through the labyrinth of these words. Feel free to sit down and rest whenever. There are no pools in this maze, so go ahead and exhale. We made it. We made it to the end.