While tempus fugits
Been working on this post for three days. Best get it out before it goes stale. What? I heard that? Whaddya mean, “Who cares?”
Some fellow bloggers1 have been off-and-on kvetching about losing track of the day of the week. Consensus is it’s a symptom of advancing years. A tempting assumption, but for me it’s been a lifelong issue. It’s been two years since Dracula schedules forced me to drag my sorry posterior out of the sack at 2:30 AM, for around-the-globe consultations. Consultations mostly with folk who could hardly understand me and I, of course, good world citizen, reciprocated. If that don’t make for good and timely IT delivery!
Most of my unruly job history comes from working “shifts.” Often for more than a year on swing or mid, and more than once, but never for a protracted time, on rotating shifts. Shiftwork is reported to be detrimental to mental and physical health. I’ll vouch for rotating shifts being killers. Especially when some sadistic scheduler2 devises double-back, short-stay, or twenty-on-four-off transitions.
Still adjusting, it goes like this:
Tuesday is “get the garbage out day.” I’m so excited to be about it I invariably try to run it out a day early. Which, one supposes, is better than a day late. First sign I’ve got the day right is seeing the neighbor’s bin out – goofus believes in putting it out the night before. Fortunately, we don’t have a dog problem or regular high winds. This week, it struck me today was Tuesday on Monday, mid-shower. I was gonna look silly barefooting to the curb dragging the big garbage bin in one hand while holding a towel around my waist with the other. Fear in this because like clockwork 9:00 to 9:15 the truck visits. But let me forget and open the garage doors at 8:58 one Tuesday, that’ll be the day they came at 8:45. Real Monday is catch-up day.
This is garage putz and industrial housework day. Because there’s a therapist who swings by to compare notes with the Boss, house-mouse chores are lest we be embarrassed. Has to be done sometime anyway. Wednesday is as good a day as any.
Used to be laundry, but I’ve been forbidden. There are always outside chores to get after not part and parcel of “lawn” work. Some jerk committed to M/W/F blog posts, so lacking expected perturbations, any schedule slack is for advance planning and noodling.
Usually grocery shopping. Pain in the pookiss. Leaving just after 8:00 AM when the wifemobile backs down the drive, I head out, list in hand to the first of many stores. Useta could do most at one store. No more. Rotating shortages. The stores are in collusion. You can never tell which store ain’t got what this week. They’re gonna keep at it, Imma quit eating. That’ll show’m. Don’t get home until after noon on a good day, nearly two on a normal day. Get this: all the stores are within eight miles. Sad, huh? Skipping the hunt for groceries, Friday is lawn mowing day if I want my weekend free. Which it never is – free. Then, there’s Temple.
Oh, I lied about being Jewish. After shopping, the refrigerator is full of bulk meats. That’s an afternoon cutting and re-packaging in two-person freezer packages. Means blood-soaked wrappers, plastics and industrial styrofoam, which smell pretty evil in about three days. You see why Tuesdays are important. If Friday didn’t mow with standard extras, Saturday is a game. Usually tell myself I can let the lawn go until Sunday afternoon. That means a trip inside to check the laptop weather report. There’s an admission of misplaced trust. The Weather Bureau is seldom even close. They say rain, it’ll be Saharan. They say dry, I can wave to Noah as he and his zoo float past.
If I’ve put off mowing or heavy-duty garden chores Friday and Saturday, guess what? Regardless of the Weather Bureau advisory, if I waited, it will rain. No mowing to do or rain, there are always chores, either mine, or some the Boss has found to keep me out of trouble.
What the hey happened to Tuesday? Can’t remember but think I made garbage this week. What day is today, anyway? Tuesday should have a bell around its neck.
1 “Fellow” bloggers? How presumptuous! I’ve just begun paying dues. If exile is not forced upon me, I may voluntarily withdraw to continue my journalistic/literary search.
2 Schedulers inhabit day shifts. Figure that out. Staying clearheaded while befouling others’ lives? I hear maniacal laughter still.
FF: 3; WC:770