I scratch my stubble and look at the number that comes before January and it takes a double take to comprehend. As I start writing this, it's the 17th. It may be the 18th when I finish. Or, knowing me, it could be March. In any case, it doesn't feel like we should be in the second half of this month, not yet at least. I need to concentrate to write '2011' instead of any other year. I wrote '2002' the other day. Where the intervening 9 years went is anyone's guess.
It seems like New Years was yesterday, or perhaps the day before. I've no idea where the last two weeks have disappeared to, though I'm quite certain they're not coming back.
Meanwhile, 2010 fades into the mist of the distant past. The memories aren't gone - they just seem further removed than they should.
It's strange, because I haven't moved in a year. In spite of travel, new people and new places, I've gone nowhere. That's something quite difficult to face and to accept, but it is what it is, and within that I need to find a new gear, preferably a forward one. Reverse and neutral are worn down.
It shouldn't surprise me that the correct year confounds me - it could be any of the last nine and little would be different.
Probably time that changed.