Nine years

I watched a documentary about David Bowie’s time as Ziggy Stardust and the words from the song Five Years have been running through my head ever since – except I’ve been singing it as nine, not five. Maybe a Freudian slip.

Nine years would take me up to three score years and ten, my conventionally allotted time on this planet. But with a ninety one year old dad and a mum who made it to eighty seven – who knows.

But time has got very slippery these days. Days, weeks, months and years merge into one another. Images will pop up of work trips to the US, or Australia in the Photos widget on my phone and not only will I struggle to remember when the trip happened, the very fact that it did is becoming increasingly unreal.

All I know with any certainty is that I get up, stuff happens, and I go to sleep, over and over again. The past is a dream that I have here and now, the future a fantasy that likewise is a figment of my imagination that I experience here and now.

My very last moment will be just the same and it may happen tomorrow, in nine years, or thirty. I will wake up, stuff will happen, then I will go to sleep…

6 thoughts on “Nine years

  1. I see photos of another time and another place and find it so hard to remember what kind of headspace I was in at that time. I guess we evolve and can never recreate that state. The past does indeed seem like a dream now.


    1. I think it is also that our brains construct the idea of time and then cling to the story of a continuing narrative that this implies. That narrative is incredibly selective at best and constrains our sense of self to stories that we have inherited or made up.


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