I know and understand that it is now 2009.
Nonetheless every time I am called to refer to something’s occurrence relative to the present (like, “five years ago”), the present is 1994 first, followed by the clicks of slipping gears and a careful recalculation and realization that no, this is not 1994, and all the great new music coming out is in fact 15 years old.
The chronological muff-ups are mostly internal and secret (unless I’m drunk and feel the need to announce things immediately). To a third party observer, there is merely an unhealthy pause and an odd series of twisting facial gestures, suggesting stroke, or perhaps a nest of scorpions in my boots. But probably a stroke.
Still, so long as my brain persists in maintaining this blunder, at least it has chosen a great year.