Tomorrow I will lay on the floor, adjacent to my bed, and think about the stuffed animal I never had as a child.
The day after that I will bang my head against a mime's wall as he gestures with his feet to 'go away and eat three beans.'
Two days after the mime incident I will cry.
The day before I cry, I will not cry.
The day before that I will rest.
Yesterday I will use incorrect syntax to create a piece of post-modern drivel.
In a year I will be born and two decades ago I will listen to a recording of myself typing an masterpiece.

In exactly 1 hour and thirty7 minutes I will.