A Question of Timing

I had an odd thought the other day: it's hard to believe that when you were, say, 14, every day was just as long as your days are now.

That's because time shrinks as it recedes into the past. 

I mean, think of 1998. 

What happened? Oh, you might recall one or two things; maybe you remember 10. 

But the intervening 12 years has put '98 through a kind of freeze-drying process, reducing it to a shrunken-headed caricature of a year. 

August 15, 1998? Remember spending those two hours in a traffic jam at the George Washington Bridge? 

Probably not. 

And, even if you do, only as a clock tick.

But each of those hours, each of those minutes, was just as long as any of today's.

At least that's what physics tells us.

But, physics doesn't know anything about time. 

Not really. 

All physics knows are inexorable cycles demarcated by (electro)mechanical devices for our social/economic convenience.  

Us, we know time is this elastic substance that confounds us throughout our lives; always in short supply when you desire it most; always abundant when you don't.