Outta Time

I'm off my schedule today, and it's bugging me. I'm a creature of routine.

Don't disrupt my routine - I fall apart.

I had to take Beloved Spouse to the doctor for another follow-up visit this morning. Everything is healing nicely, and in a few more weeks he should be good as new. I think he's had enough of doctors handling his man-parts, too.  All I know is, I'll be glad when I don't have to sleep on the sofa anymore.

But the appointment was at an awkward time of the morning. It didn't make sense to go to the office and then come home, but I couldn't justify blowing off work until it was time to go to the doctor's office, either. So I ended up working from home for about an hour and a half, driving BelSpouse to his appointment, then going to the office afterward.

It was eleven o'clock when I got to work, and it was noon before I knew it. But I had eaten a pretty big (by my standards) breakfast mid-morning, so it didn't feel like lunchtime. Now it's getting on toward mid-afternoon, but I feel as if I only just got here. I can't settle into a productive groove.

You want to make me grumpy? Mess up my internal clock.

Case in point: Over the weekend, BelSpouse and I watched a movie. Actually, we watched an awesomely bad episode of "Mystery Science Theatre 3000" featuring Girl in Gold Boots, which is hilariously awful.


Nearly everything on this poster is a lie.
There really were gold boots, however.

Anyway, when the movie ended, I felt really tired. I've been a tired a lot lately. I really would make a terrible nurse. The little battery-powered clock on the TV stand said it was only 8:20 - too early to go bed on a Saturday night, even when you're a fundamentally dull person like me - so I thought I'd just lay down for a short rest. I dozed off, and when I woke up I looked at the clock again.

It said 8:20.

Then I looked at the clock on the kitchen stove. It said 11:20.

Obviously, the battery on the little clock had stopped. But the thing was, I didn't know how long it had already been stopped when I lay down for my nap. So I had no idea how long I had been asleep. It was somewhere between 10 minutes and three hours.

And I couldn't ask BelSpouse how much time had passed. After his surgery I quickly learned that if you're doing nothing but sitting around recuperating all day and taking powerful pain meds, your sense of time is the first thing to go.

I was freaked out. Apparently my psyche operates on a strict timetable. There is a time to eat, a time to sleep, a time to blog, and a time to think crazy thoughts (which would be the rest of the time). Divorce me from that internal clock, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. When I don't know what I'm supposed to do, my equilibrium breaks down.


Not even funny.

 In this case, I stayed up until four o'clock in the morning. My body had no idea how tired it was supposed to feel, so I think it just started the day over. I felt fresh as a daisy and couldn't have gone to sleep if I'd tried. When I did finally go to bed (or couch), I only slept a couple of hours and woke up at the same time I would have gotten up after a full night's sleep. Which of course I hadn't gotten. It was a grumpy day.

The moral is, if you want to torture me, just throw away all the clocks. I'll tell you anything you want to know in exchange for one glance at somebody's watch.

So today my mind feels like sludge. I'm writing about it because I got nothing else. I can't come up with a single idea or thought except how weird it feels to be off my schedule.

And it doesn't end there. I have to pick up Precocious Daughter at an odd time today, so when we get home, I'll probably think it's a couple of hours earlier than it actually is and later I'll freak out because it will be 11:00 p.m. and I'll feel as if the whole day just flew by with nothing accomplished. Not that that's a whole lot different from any other day.

I'm going to need something to get me back on track. Something dependable and reassuring that makes me feel everything is OK.

 It's always a good time for chocolate.