It finally happened.
I rolled out of bed and shuffled into my Sunday routine. With my cup of coffee I nested into my sofa spot and grabbed the TV remote to check out Sunday morning news talk. But then I hear my wife in her home office, working the phone. But why on Sunday?
I check it out. She says she's busy on a work project, so I quickly hustle away, thinking, "Too bad she's working on a Sunday." Now ... this was a screaming clue but I was oblivious.
Back at the TV I find my shows have not been recorded. Another clue.
I am befuddled. I check regular channel listings and the truth is there.
The Sunday shows are not on at all. Because ... it's Tuesday.
And there you have it. Proof that I am old.
All those clues and I did not know it was Tuesday. (I'd already gone through a Monday!) It sure felt like Sunday. I can't blame retirement. Days do blend together, but I follow a schedule.
So ... is there a bigger threat? Forgetfulness is part of aging, but my Sunday confusion lasted too long. It felt strange.
I will accept it as a reminder to monitor memory lapses. And ... for now I am calling a glitch. And I will blame the pandemic. For a year I've been secluded. Let's call it hibernating.
Think about it. When a big fuzzy bear rumbles out after months of light slumber, do you think he knows what day it is?
Yep. I blame pandemic hibernation.
And, whatever day it is, I am so ready to leave the cave.
I’m Lonny Cain … and that’s my Perspective.
