24 Aug / Casual lapses in memory
I was sitting on the couch. Involved in watching the welcome return of Doctor Who, and the chance to see Peter Capaldi in a role that doesn’t involve non-stop swearing (though I imagine that would also be quite awesome and something that Stephen Moffat should definitely consider – an after-the-watershed version of Doctor Who in consultation with Armando Ionnucci would be a thing of wonder and no I don’t mind cast-typing if it gets me what I want.)
I knew it was Sunday. Minutes earlier I’d made my office lunch for Monday, and then realised I didn’t need it because we have an off-site lunch tomorrow and therefore I’d been super-organised and prepared an office lunch for Tuesday, something that I usually only manage on a Tuesday morning.
And then a dreadful thing happened. I thought for a couple of minutes of how nice it would be to sleep in tomorrow because I’m still feeling quite knackered, and the joy of not having to get up in time for early-morning Saturday shopping would be great.
Except I do have to get up tomorrow because it’s Monday.
What happened? Why did my usual time-keeping and day-keeping ability get out of synch so that I thought that tomorrow was going to be a wonderful day instead of the hell it will be? Not that I hate my job, I love it quite a lot in fact, but having to get up early, having to shower and dress according to a timetable, having to get to the office and realise that no matter what I do I’m probably going to be there for more waking hours than I’ll be at home with my loved one is not something to put joy into my heart.
The feeling when I work up to the normal time-stream was akin to stepping onto a level pavement and finding out that you’ve actually started down a staircase (though without the teeth-snapping and bubble of laughter to show you’ve made an ass of yourself – which occurs whether there are people around or not, why is that? – and the pain in the back of your heel.)
It led me to consider which is the worse situation; thinking it’s Saturday and realising it’s Sunday and your weekend is over; or thinking it’s Friday and realising it’s Thursday and your weekend is postponed by a FULL day?
Does anyone ever get the conviction that it’s a day it isn’t and the real day is MORE than a day out?
Many things to ponder. Comments welcome below.