2010 in sydney is still only 2009 in london

I kept a diary when I was 15. I had completely forgotten about its existence until I rediscovered it a couple of weeks ago. Of course I immediately began reading it and as I read I went from being an outsider looking at myself back then to suddenly feeling as if I’d just been writing the diary and I’d laid down my pen and only popped out for a minute. And thousands and millions of minutes had gone by, but they were no time at all.

And so now I stand teetering on the edge of the old year. And the old decade. If I lose my balance which year will I fall into and which decade? 2010 in Sydney will still only be 2009 in London. And inside my body, I honestly don’t know what year it is. Since the mid 90s I’ve always felt that the years were running ahead of me, just for the hell of it, not because the numbers on the calendar were true. I’d say maybe it’s really only 2004 or 2005 but it could still be the 1990s for all I know.  And somewhere not very far away, that teenage girl writes and I don’t manage to look over until she slips out of the room. But she was just there. I know that she was just there.

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