Rotating bodies twist the space-time continuum, scientists assert, thus proving Einstein correct --again.

Meanwhile, my favourite body, rotating or not, is currently on a plane to North Dakota, thus twisting my body's space-time contiuum into strange new shapes. My heart suffers jet lag in Grand Forks, while the rest of my body endures the absence in a numb apartment in Bergen. Time shifts itself into new and unheard-of categories of agonizingly slow; subdivides itself into infitesimal fragments of experience, each one having to be known, drip by drip of the leaky faucet that keeps me awake, before she comes back.


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