Someone hit me, I'm thinking too much

I was born in 1991. A year later it was 1992; then 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009. This year. It's a lot to think about. I just can't figure out why humans are always the short-lived species in any work of fantasy. There is so much time in a life, and so much happens and changes that within the space of those numbers changing even once that you come out a completely different person. Every day brings a new day's memories, and the destruction of a day's worth of old memories. A snake eating it's own tail, infinity. I wonder what I have forgotten, what I remember differently, what great impacts of my life have been burned away. I wonder what it would be like to think this when I'm fifty, memory faded even more trying to piece all of that past together, not even remembering I ever wrote this, not remembering the names of friends dear to me now.