Every day brings it own constant reminder that time is passing. I'm sure this seems obvious to everyone, but I often space out for lengths of time, when suddenly I'm aware that I'm older--much older than I want to be. I realize I'm by no means old, but as the archetype Peter Pan personality, each day propels me farther from youth. Or as Shakespeare described it once... propels me closer to second childishness "Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." This is terrifying.
How morbid to face your own mortality... Where's the joie de vivre?
I've always had it in me-the dark, brooding side that can't let go. Always looking back, wishing to go back. But it's become worse now that I've a little one. I look at pictures taken just a mere 3 years ago... the progress, the growth, the advancement, the age. My goodness if only i could hit the pause button.
And then it happens... I space out and another six months have rolled by.
Hopefully I'll have taken enough pictures, that looking back will be so filled with snapshots that i can use it as a "My Life" flip book.