Not long after university, I lived by myself in a house that was purple on the inside. I loved having my own time, my own space, and my own little corner of the world. I was there for about 18 months, and now think back with a smile at that brief, but happy period.
And my university days, where I met some of my best friends, spent many an hour in the bar, and definitely not enough time in lectures, lasted three years. Sometimes it felt longer than that, but now, over 15 years on, I recognise that also as an oh too brief period in my life.
And all those jobs I hated, and even the first one I didn't, didn't really last long.
So why is time elastic? Periods that feel endless, with hindsight are actually brief. As my Nan says, the clock keeps on ticking. Time keeps on moving.
And so this is the time when my children are small. Sometimes they drive me crazy. Send me to distraction. And I'm screaming inside because I don't want to play cars for the fifty millionth time. Why do some days feel endless, when I know, like the rest of the world with its well meaning advice, that this period of my life is also brief?