Crazy Ass Planet

Good grief … or good gravy, as my mother use to say … it’s only Thursday. Where do these weeks come from? You know, those weeks where there are 12.2 gazillion things to do and everything seems muddled and buggered up?

Perhaps it’s not the week itself, but how the week is perceived. “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our weeks, but in ourselves …”

I seem to be in one of my recurring periods of imbalance. I am wide awake way too late at night. In the morning, I can’t sleep in. But in the middle of the day? After lunch, everything crashes and I want to sleep … which would be fine except when you’re working it’s generally frowned upon.

Whatever it is, the end result is a man who looks and feels as if he just came out of the washer’s rinse cycle.

I have the mental swiftness of a lobotomized bureaucrat. (Is that an oxymoron?) Sample exchange – internal dialogue:

“Bill, what day is it?”

“Why, it’s Wednesday of course. No – wait! It’s Friday. I can’t believe it’s already Friday. Oh, that’s because it’s not. Is it Thursday? Doesn’t feel like a Thursday. What’s the computer say? Wow – it is Thursday!”

So. It’s Thursday. But it feels like a continuation of Wednesday – which may be what Thursdays are, days that feel like extensions of the day before. Whatever it is, the week feels like one that will never end. And perhaps it won’t.

I guess I’ll find out Friday.

(Note: How did today begin? I have a small coffee grinder. I put the beans in. The grinder has a cord that pulls out. So I did this. Unfortunately, I neglected to put the lid on the grinder and forgot that pulling the cord out makes the entire grinder spin.

Beans freaking everywhere!!!)

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