Nanowrimo Day 3 (a little behind)

He comes out of a Twix-fueled haze a few hours later, unsure of his surroundings. It appears to be a motel, but he doesn't remember checking in. He forgets things frequently these days. Aldred has reached a point in his life where there are no discrete events anymore, and time isn't nicely packaged up into moments that can be called forth from short term storage with ease. It's all a gooey confusing now, stretching and spreading and collapsing into itself. Nothing is clear and linear, everything is happening simultaneously. It would be all very buddhist, Aldred supposes, if he could make any sense of it. Constraints of human perception have failed him thus far: an endless wodge of space time is still only directly perceivable bit by bit, even when one comprehends that the whole is so much larger.