26 hours in the 90's. I call them "The Lost Hours." So sad -- more than a whole day's time.
You see I have absolutely no memory of any of those hours: the 26 hours I've calculated that I spent clipping my fingernails in the 1990's. I mean to say that I literally don't have one independent recollection of even one of those "events." Do you?
My estimation is that I'd spent about 3 minutes per week times 52 weeks times 10 years, which equals 1,560 minutes (or 26 hours) doing the work. And again, I have absolutely no memory, only very strong circumstantial evidence that I did cut them. After all I certainly didn't go around clawing myself or others that decade, and surely I would have retained some memorable anecdotes had I been walking around with claws the whole time.
So why should I care about the "lost hours"? Frankly It's the way they were lost -- lost in the mindless mutilation of my own body. I just can't get past that one fact, and of course it scares the heck out of me -- so I just try to remind myself that it's normal and that we all have these kinds of worries from time to time.
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