It’s a day

I have physical therapy three days a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. This week’s times were 2:30, 2:30 and 2:00.

So, around 12:15 today, I showered and shaved and got dressed in clean jeans and a pullover shirt.

When I went into the living room, all dressed and shiny-faced, my wife said, “You do know this is Thursday.”

Part of my mind said, No, it’s Friday, while another part said, Survivor was on last night. Wednesday night.

“Oh,” I said. “This is not Friday.”

Today was not the first time the days slid back. When I worked at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, I had to be in the newspaper office around 5 a.m. I always got up around 4. One night I woke up and looked at the bedside clock and saw the illuminated hands at 6:00. “Oh, shoot,” I said, and I sprang from bed and then realized the illuminated hands were at 12:30. I went back to sleep.

The other time of days leaving me behind occurred when I worked for the Paris News. I got up at my normal time, 6:00 a.m. I had to be at work by 7:30. I did not wake up to the alarm, but to my inner clock. After showering, shaving and getting dressed, I returned to the bedroom, kissed my wife, and said, “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Okay,” she said in a sleepy voice, and then, “This is Saturday.”

“No,” I said. “It’s Tuesday.”

She insisted the day was Saturday. She reminded me that the day before she and I had lunch with people with whom we had lunch one Friday a month.

“Oh,” I said. "Today is Saturday."

One thing: It’s better to think today is tomorrow than think the opposite.