I was fifteen years old and had no idea what social constructions could do to a mind.

Ever since we finished the last millenna and started counting in 2000’s I’ve been feeling lost. Years no longer have any impact on me. From the time I was figure-literate the years were made up of mostly nines, but also other, real numbers, like ones and sevens and sixes. And then suddenly, after having reached the logical setup of one and three nines, I had to abandon this beautiful series and start counting my years with the help of twos and an awful lot of zeros. The magic was broken, everyhting was gone awry. Almost like Chistmas, when it’s Tuesday or Monday but everybody acts like it’s Sunday, because it sort of is. But it really isn’t. But when it’s Christmas you know it only lasts for three days. This year-counting business, we won’t get rid off as easily.

I don’t know if it’s mostly a matter of learning something in a critical period (childhood) and then having difficulties indocrinating a new way of thinking later in life. In my case, realizing that 1997 and 2003 are both years, even though they look different.

It might also have to do with the point of time of the millenna. I was fifteen. Things changed. I could now choose to devote myself to prostitution without my older customers having to be charged for having under-aged sex. I chose not to. Also, I was in puberty, which might have had something to do with it. A new time dawned and there was no going back. My body changed, and so did the look of the years.

Or maybe I’m just getting old. Years fly by like soda-streamed water in a river and it’s not important what their name is. A year these days isn’t like a year when I was seven. A year back then was something huge, almost solemn. Too abstract to fully understand, too real to escape. A year now is something fickle and fleeting, like a BUTTERFLY. Mm, butter.

If you got this far, you are rewarded with a song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WRm3VsmXRE