It's astonishing how time changes its quality, depending on circumstances and age. When I was ten, 20 seemed aeons away and I felt as though being a teenager was never going to end.

The decade from 50 to 60 seems to have gone by in a flash, and here I am approaching 70. Who, me? Wait! I was just 50 a year or so ago, wasn't I?

On a smaller scale, time plays tricks, too. Earlier today, I found myself referring to 12 July when I meant 12 September. The summer months just compressed and dropped off into the bottomless bag. Here it is mid-September already.

And on the micro level--well, I was so busy today from 5:15 (when I got to work) until 12:20 that when I looked up at the clock as I responded to an urgent need to tend to bodily functions, I realized I had been only dimly aware of the hours passing.

My housemate urged me to get some dinner just now, even if it's only soup, and I realized that it was 7 p.m. and the day nearly gone (when you get up at 4 in the morning, 8 p.m. is late).

Where did the day go? Who stole my reading time?