What Day Is It?

For most of my life I always knew what day it was. I didn't have to think about it, it was simply in my head, knowledge that came naturally. It was continually reinforced by school, then office jobs, then my kids being in school. Sometimes time went quickly, sometimes it dragged, but I always knew the day. Then the last girl finished high school and moved out. My husband's schedule changed. I was working at home. I struggled to keep the days straight. The final blow came when my husband took a job that had him in a different city for four days, then home for four. There was much that I loved about this job. It was a great get away for me--to visit him and take advantage of all the area had to offer. The days off gave us plenty of time to take care of things at home. It's probably the closest we ever came to being caught up with chores. And I found I didn't mind the four days alone. It gave me the chance to do my own thing without having to accommodate someone else. I ate when I was in the mood. I read as late as I wanted without disturbing his sleep. But by the end of the four days, I was tired of doing my own thing and very happy to share my life again. However, it totally ruined my internal calendar. Four plus four days equals an eight-day week. Not only did this not match up with the real calendar, the days home and away constantly moved. He would be home on the weekend, then a few weeks later, home during the week. I spent an enormous amount of time trying to remember what day it was vs. where we were in his rotation. There are jokes about knowing you're old when you need your weekly pill container to know what day it is. Well, I'm there. Although, even that system isn't perfect. Once in a while, like yesterday, I forget to take my morning pills. I may be in a big rush to get to an early appointment or distracted by a phone call. Or I just forget. Then the next morning I stare at the container as though waiting for a vision. I thought it was Wednesday, but there are pills in the Tuesday section. It's embarrassing how long I stare at it before figuring out what happened. It's been years since my husband left that job, but the damage was done. I've mostly come to terms with being permanently disabled date-wise, but it's annoying and wastes an awful lot of time that I could be using to organize world peace. Or the kitchen junk drawer.