Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio?

I’ve lost a half a day.

I don’t know where it went and worse still, my body doesn’t know where it went.

I was up late—a typical thing for me these past couple of weeks, but I did go to bed and I did fall asleep easily (another blessed Typical), but when I opened my eyes the sun was clearly in the wrong place. I’d forgotten to set the timer on the television and receiver to shut down after a given time period to prevent it from being on all night so it was on—something I hate because it feels, in those first few moments, like I’ve awoken in a room full of people who are having a conversation all around me.

With that sense of dreaad—or misplacement (which is dreadful) I reached for the clock (which is my iPhone) and it was well after 14:00.

Now well after 19:00, I can’t tell you (and I can’t tell myself) where five more hours have diffused away to. It’s an odd place to be. Or not to be. I’d ask a question, but without two good footplants on solid firmament, questions are whisps of cloud and and words are doppler data that no one heard anyway and whose existence become questionable.

Had I responsibilities today? Commitments? No email left my inbox or outboxes. Messages were marked as read yet may not have been actually read.

So did I read them?

Did I leave the gas on?

No! I’m a fucking squirrel!

(points to those who got that reference)