27 Jul / Time-travel
I’ve spent a lot of the past few weeks dreaming about my upcoming holiday. I firmly believe that this holiday is going to be a good one, a holiday to beat all other holidays in fact, mainly because it hasn’t arrived to not live up to my expectations.
An unfortunate side-effect has been my decreasing ability to tell what day or time it is. Slips of the mind that are perfectly natural on beach holidays, but slightly more concerning when attempting to perform my officely duties.
Today I was unhappily ensconced in a meeting room, when I looked down at my watch to check on the time. It said 2.00pm which was patently ridiculous as it was still morning. Stupid Samsung watch. Or, I’d been replenishing my lives on Farm Heroes and forgot to reset the time afterward.
Except, it wasn’t the fault of the watch or my gaming addiction. It really was 2.00pm. I was eventually able to verify this myself by recalling that I’d sat in the breakout area and enjoyed lunch a few hours beforehand.
At least that one was headed in the right direction. Last Friday I had my more usual wake up in the morning before the alarm dead-set certain that it was Saturday only to find out it wasn’t.
Fair enough. On Saturday at midday I thought that I was at home on a weekday, and didn’t bat an eyelid that my darling was also home, even though on the rare occasions that we’re sick at the same time I force myself to go to work because being sick at work is better than listening to someone else be sick at home.
In two weeks and four days (not that I’m counting) this will all be irrelevant because everyone knows that holidays at the beach reside outside of the time space continuum unless you want to have an evening meal at three in the afternoon in which case it reasserts itself pretty sharpish.