Time Is A Helluva Drug

I remember when I was young a day used to be like a fuckin’ eternity. The anticipation of some event (a holiday, time off school, or in particular waiting for something mail-ordered to arrive) lasted for ETERNITIES. Periods of my younger life that lasted maybe 3-6 months seem to comprise inordinately large parts of my memories — clearly this is hard to quantify but it seems like the summer before I went to high school makes up at least 10% of everything I ever remember. The whole 4-year high school period feels like it took a decade. And to compound it all, more recently things seem to be trending in the opposite direction.

“Oh, it’s my birthday again? No shit.”

“Oh, it’s been two years since we spoke? Fuck.”

“Wow, I’ve lived in this place three years already?”

“I cannot believe that I could’ve picked up a bachelor’s degree in the time since I saw your son. He’s fucking [i]huge.[/i]”

or, again (probably revealing something unpleasant about my life)

“What do you mean that crazy techno-toy I ordered via carrier pigeon from Taiwan is already here? You’re shitting me, I just barely ordered it…. uhhh… two mon…

*sigh*”

This is both good and bad. If a particular moment in time sucks I know it won’t be long before something else is going on … but I don’t know how much longer I can maintain an image of myself as a young person with a life of possibility, and it’s fucking slipping away faster every day.

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