I use to move around my flat. I'd been busy with a cup of tea, but I started this twirling lark and got caught up in some kind of temporal vortex. When I was finally spat back into our own dimension, my tea was stone cold.
Temporal dislocation can be cruel like that.
It's been two weeks now, fourteen days, fourteen nights. I have counted the minutes. Smashed each new-born second on the head as it clicked forth from my kitchen clock. It was no big deal at first. A hole so small it couldn't even be seen.