Oh. My. God. You know that joke "I spent a month there one afternoon"?
I just fucking LIVED it, and it was. Not. Fun.
I wanted to take some of my newly-returned wardrobe out for a spin, so I went into the city to go club-hopping. I had dinner, I drank, I danced, I flirted. I drank and danced and flirted some more, and even met a great guy, and one thing led to another and when I walked out his door the next morning I was BACK AT THE CLUB TWELVE HOURS EARLIER.
I lived that same twelve hours over and over and over and over again. No matter what I did, or where I went, time just kept resetting. And it wasn't just here in New York. I tried to escape by flying to Paris. Didn't help, except I got to experience the same morning in Paris half a dozen times before I was suddenly back at the club.
Nothing I did made a difference, as far as I can tell. It just...stopped. Which is scary. It could have gone on forever, for all I know.