My Head Is a Prison and Nobody Visits

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands,
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

Excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot

There are seven days in a week or 168 hours or 10,080 minutes or 604,800 seconds. And everything counts towards the future, everything changes.