I have not worked the stretch between Christmas Eve and New Year’s since 1988. Because of this and that, I went back to work on the 26th and plan on working every day but the 1st. My internal clock and calendar are just whirling about in confusion.
This past Thursday, I was convinced it was January 2nd and was trying to figure out what happened to the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Now it’s Saturday and I’m trying to enforce some downtime on myself as I have every reason to be exhausted, but my mind is whirling with all the things I need to do to have the house ready for the arrival of Carruthers (my sort-of step-daughter) on January 7th. By my clock, January 7th is upon me, but all the others indicate I’ve got some time.
You can’t just do something one way for 26 years and stop willy nilly. I will not be working this week next year – it’s just too hard on me.
So, if it were indeed the new year, I would be prattling on about resolutions and the lack thereof and assorted and sundry topics related to such. And I feel like writing, but don’t have anything timely to say.
I am really out of step. The answer may be wine.