On The Shortness of Life

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It seems strange sitting here on my violin in my violin teachers newly refurbished house (I mention this because it’s an incredible upgrade over his old, well dump).

I was just thinking about the last week. 9/11 a date I would be u likely to forget, it seemed like only a few days ago, I remember all the Instagram posts, Snapchat and some other crap. I’ve been in school for four weeks now, I think. Frankly I was convinced that I had only been in for 2 until someone kindly reminded me.

We’re halfway through September, to be honest I’m still reeling over the fact that summer is over.

It’s strange how fast a year passes, it seems incredibly long but it’s just 52 of these little 7 day chunks we call weeks.

Apparently time seems to speed up the older you get. People my parents age feel months rush past, people my grandparents age feel the years rush by.
An explanation for this? The most coherent one I’ve ever heard was from some dopey friend of mine. His argument was that as you got older you gained a greater amount of reference experience for which you would compare any passage of time to, therefore at age 40 a year would seem a smaller amount of time than to a 4 year old. Because to a 40 year old a year is only a fourtieth of their life, but for a 4 year old it is an extra 25% of your life. I was pretty amazed when he said this, I could only respond with a “wow” before he returned to his usual durr state and made some comment about black pudding and sausage rolls (which incidentally are incredible things to eat).

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