After yesterdays musings to Andrew Bird I continued my working day by occasionally spreading my rage about the volcano, that forced my friend from Sweden to give up his dream of an Amsterdam weekend, on Facebook. It was another me, someone with a different language and a different tone. After work i biked south to play floorball and there yet another version of myself appeared, dressed in jogging shorts while running after a round plastic ball. The schizophrenic me did not end there. After floorball me and my glasses watched the first ever televised British debate with the three main Prime Minister contenders. There I was again, another me, seated on the floor with my political analyst mind. The only thing remotely constant is our exterior, it also changes, but its movement is generally so much slower, so much more a reflection of everyday life and the passing of time. Perhaps that is why we fear aging so much, cause the only constant self is the one reflected in the mirror, and when that reflection no longer makes sense even a cloud from a volcano won’t seem like a big deal.