There’s a hole in my time sieve

Or my hourglass or a missing cog in my pocket watch, or something, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed but time is slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future.

One minute I’m opening my eyes sleepily and trying to figure out if it’s 5 am or pm based on the light outside my window since I can in no way distinguish the little dot on either of my clock radios. Plus one of my clock radios is 11 minutes ahead while the other is now a full 5 hours off because its batteries fell out. So then I grope for my phone hoping it will have more knowledge for me, but it’s all busy with the ‘you’ve got email" screen so before I can even open both eyes at the same time I’m trying to squint-read emails that seem Very Important during the 5 am/pm haze but will later turn out to be auto-notifications from the piercing website where I order my ear-piercing soap business.

Not that I have gotten a new piercing in over a year – why am I still subscribed to that site, anyway? 

And more to the point, what TIME is it? Having determined that it is in fact 5 am, and remembering that I went to bed around 2:30, I go back to sleep. 

When I really wake up, covered in humidity that has seeped in from the treacherous outdoors, the clocks tell me it’s either 11:30 or still 5:30. At least I know it’s definitely AM instinctively. If by instinct you mean "the sound of traffic," the "degree of heat" and the "dew point of my face." 

If it’s a writing day, I tend to wake up by 9, research or wallow for a couple of hours in sit-com inspiration land (currently rewatching Scrubs with an occasional dash of Wallace and Gromit or The Office). Then I write and write until my assignment is done. Or until I hit the Wall of Unfunny, slip into the Valley of Total Failure or carom into the Turnoff of Low Blood Sugar. So then I usually eat something and keep writing.

If it’s not a writing day, and I’m not anticipating any kind of assignment, and there is really truly nothing to do besides look for work or sleep more… I will probably sleep more. This past year of Do-Goodery, while good for the soul and the karma and gauging the level of gut-churning tension the body can stand….was stressful. And I’ve been enjoying the sleep, and the work that primarily involves making myself laugh and trusting that someone else will have a giggle at the words I have arranged as well. 

Whether it’s a writing day or not, I eventually reach a stage of Internet Blur Vision, where it is crucial that I get up and go outside. If I just try to switch to reading a book or playing my keyboard or cooking some ramen or watching TV instead of multi-tasking with my laptop, before long I will forget that I put away my laptop because my eyes went blurry and I’ll pick up the laptop again. 

So I’ve been enjoying some outside time when it’s not so hot that I loathe everything in the world. The Brooklyn Cyclones give away free jerseys every Thursday so naturally I’m trying to arrange the rest of my summer so that I collect Every. Single. Jersey. If only they’d give away a windbreaker. 

Somehow after coming in from outdoors time (i.e. wandering around Park Slope picking out houses I would live in if the zombies cleared out the current residents), taking my 3rd shower of the day and unwrapping the latest netflix, I manage to dispose of anywhere from 3-10 hours. I might notice I’m tired around 9, and if I "Just want to check one something" online, I won’t notice that time is a thing again until 1 am. At which point the only prudent thing to do is "Watch just one more something" online until I fall asleep. Except Rugrats leads me to Firefly which leads me to Merlin which leads me to Buffy which leads me to 4 am and a vague sense that something has gone awry. 

Fortunately, tomorrow is a writing day so some semblance of order will be restored. I really do like having a flexible schedule…I just wish it was more like a crazy straw, which at least straightens out at the beginning and end, and less like what happened that time Gigantor tied my slinky in like, eleventy dozen knots. 

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