Four Sundays ago, I began this blog. Each following Sunday I’ve woken up and thought, “Sunday already? Where did the week go?” It’s a valid question. As I’ve grown older, the pace of time seems to have sped up. I’m not the first by any means to have noticed this, but it’s terrifying nonetheless. I remember childhood as this almost eternal state of existence where nothing changed, where a year felt like a year.
A year ago today occurred what you could call our school’s Christmas ‘prom’, which was a rather fascinating experience for me. Which, unnervingly, did not feel like a year ago. My life hasn’t changed enough for a year to have passed! And yet, as soon as I write that, I can see my life has changed in so many ways.
Perhaps part of it is also down to my current chaotic, semi-homeless lifestyle (more on that soon, again!). This increase in pace of time has been particularly more rapid in the last few months. Events of a month ago literally feel as if they were only last week. It’s like I don’t know where my life is going; time is slipping through my fingers. I’m not sure what could be done to slow it down, to give time some actual meaning once more. Perhaps slowing time down wouldn’t be desirable.
But not all time is racing ahead. Some memories do feel in their proper place, such as exam results; it feels as if there was never a time I did not know of these. Friendships seem to blend well in time – thinking back to before I made certain friends definitely feels like a very long time ago. So perhaps, rather than my experience of time changing, it’s a phenomena of memory. If so, I can’t decide whether this means my memory is improving or weakening.
To-morrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time.