Today, a small compendium at the bottom corner right of this screen confirms this as Feb. 19, 2019 -- a Tuesday. I suppose it could be "fake news," but it is as close to reassurance as I can find after having lost another day and time. It is an old habit -- trying to be on the same page with others in this day and time. Old habits die hard.
My problem of late is taking a late afternoon siesta (circa 4 p.m.), waking at around 9 ... and being marrow-deep convinced that this is nine in the morning, and I probably have missed some doctor's appointment or other engagement. Then I find it is actually night and things need to be revised.
So much for the vagaries and vagueness of advancing age. When I ask myself why I should fret about what time or time of day it might be, I find no satisfactory answer. But that answer remains unsatisfactory. So I segue into a morning routine -- reading news wires, snipping out bits and pieces of interest, ingesting a roll and a bit of juice, and trying to otherwise reset the clock.
If today were not Tuesday, would it matter?
If today were Tuesday, would it matter?
If it didn't matter, would it matter?
If it did matter, would it matter?
Age ... would it matter if it stopped insisting that did/didn't matter?
Somehow I feel as floppy and flappy as a sea turtle on a Galapagos beach.