Time begins to warp when you become a parent, or at least, your personal concept of time.
In the carefree, unencumbered days of my early 20s, time was infinite. I believed I had even more time tomorrow than I did today, and I'd certainly be guaranteed many more years in which to accomplish whatever I wanted. I'd linger in the office, moseying my way through an assignment as day turned to night. I kept people waiting, showing up to the bar 45 minutes later than when I said I'd arrive. Time was disposable.