Crisis

When they say time slows down during a crisis they know what they're talking about. Like when you hit a rock on your Razor scooter and it takes ages for you to hit the driveway. Or when she says she doesn't love you and your next class may as well be on the moon. Or the time between "It smells like pot in here" and your answer, even if your answer is the truth.

You suspect the worst. You brain slows everything down so it can process. You are trying to make sense of a nonsense thing. The test results can't be positive. The grade can't be that low. That is not the garage door opening below you. But they are positive, and how do you move forward? They are that low, and is there extra credit? That is the sound of the door, and where are your pants?

Time should slow down during good times. When the pinata bursts, when the song is played, when she says yes and for the next twenty years. You have no problem contemplating the wonderful. The wonderful is supposed to be there, the wonderful should be the norm. But there's so much of it you don't even realize. And it's only when something horrible happens that you remember how great your life really is.