I, for whatever reason, read the quote from Emily Dickinson at the bottom of my page last night: Existence has overpowered books. Today, I slew a mushroom.
Guess what we had last night for dinner.
Yep, I rarely have any idea what day of the week it is anymore. Each and every day has become the essentially the same – the morning walks may be a little different, I may have to go to a doctor appointment or the nap times may vary but, in the end, there is little distinction from one day of the week to the next.
I’ve lost my weekends. Mr.Q is home on Saturday and Sunday, and that does make a difference in the day, but no more can I enjoy not going into work or sleeping in or carrying the on-call pager. [Okay, “enjoy” might be a little strong for carrying the pager…I enjoyed getting paid for it, though.] The days go by fast and perhaps that’s because there is now so little delineation between them. BabyQ and I are up, we’re feeding, we’re aimlessly wandering the local trails, we’re napping – and it’s all good. Just…a little blurry.
I’ve lost my evening television. How am I supposed to know what day of the week it is if I don’t know whether Canadian Idol, What Not to Wear or CSI [the original in Vegas, please] is airing? To make matters a little blurrier – daytime tv is all the same. And all sucky. Perhaps this means it’s time to resurrect the ancient and rather temperamental VCR. Perhaps not.
What I’ve lost in my sense of the space-time continuum [did I mention that Star Trek, in all it’s forms, is on a lot during the day?] I’ve gained back many fold in babyQ and this post is not a complaint. Just a resettling and the new expectation that, in addition to losing my memory, I may now lose my concept of the calendar.