A month, six, a year, maybe twenty.
In the end it doesn't matter. Whatever it is. Because life is a game, and when you play life too close you cannot detach yourself from your failures, your stupid, stupid, stupid mistakes. But then again, you cannot savor your successes either.
It's hard looking at events and the people who walk in and out of our butterfly existences and making educated guesses about what parts these will ultimately play. But it's equally hard for me not to give a toss about these things either.
There must be something, some value in what we do, or try to do, else why do we go through the bother?