Tracking Days

I’m losing track of my days people. I keep forgetting what day of the week it is. B warned me that his schedule would do this to me. That everything kind of devolves into work and break days. Weekends have no meaning because you work half of them. Any two days off in a row is a weekend. And all other, and far more conventional means, of tracking time become somehow less important and real.

What does the name of the day of the week matter? Is Sunday a Sunday because it’s Sunday or because it’s a day off traditionally reserved for religious purposes and football? But, if I work every other Sunday and choose to worship on a Tuesday evening does that make Tuesday my Sunday? Is Saturday a Saturday because it’s a day for friends, chores, and all the random things that have to be done? I guess, my question is, what makes a day the day that it is? Pure arbitrariness? Simple ritual because that’s how it’s always been?

If that’s the case, then, I’m fine with my current means of tracking days. The important time is the time we spend together. The rest of it, well, it’s just there to track the days.

~The Countess~

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About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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