Depends. My grandpa used to say he liked to be left alone on the porch because he could either review 60 years in an hour, or blink a few times for the season to pass over.

I ain't hit 40 yet, but I already understand the power within subjectivity and maintaining an awareness of time.

Given a few eons and a job that is both vitally necessary and endlessly incomplete, and I know exactly how it would go.

Fast flashes of grim (heh) determination towards a task and then back to the blank. But the blank is inconsequential and isn't counted, awareness jumps from task to task, the seconds or years in-between do not exist.

Unless a reason appears. Maybe Timmy almost wins the game for his soul because I let myself get rusty. Maybe Timmy dies in such a spectacularly fantastical fashion that it shakes me out of the work humdrum long enough to go (that's rad) and time would count differently again, for a time.

I don't know, I'm not an immortal servitor of peace and rest.