There’s an old song with the title I Didn’t Know What Time It Was.  That’s not my problem.  I have clocks all over the place.   But what day is it?  I never know.

For example:  My sister-in-law called yesterday and asked what I was going to blog about.  Blog?   I didn’t even realize today was Tuesday.  It’s a problem I’m having more and more often.

Second:    I had  carefully written on my calendar that I was going to lunch with my good friends, the Jones at 11:00 on Friday.   I was writing, finishing up a proposal for my agent and lost track of time when a call came from the complex office that my friends were here. I realize it doesn’t help to make a note if one doesn’t look at the calendar.    Being a writer, I hadn’t even showered yet.  I tossed on clothes, drew on eyebrows, and combed my hair which looked only slightly better than Edward Scissorhand’s.  The Jones were lovely about it and we had a delicious lunch and good time.

Part of the problem is that I’m retired and the only days I have to remember are Sunday for church and any day with a doctor’s appointment.   Not that I haven’t forgotten them as well.   The other part is that I  do not have a calendar in my head.  I’ve really never known what day it was.   I still have delivery of the newspaper because I want to support in-print papers but also because I can check it for the date.  Oh, and I do read some of it.    In mental hospitals, one way staff finds out if a patient is oriented in time is to ask them the date.  I’d fail that every time, would probably never be released.

Before I retired, I had the framework of, well, work.    It’s lovely to look ahead of days to write and hours to read and time to spend with friends–if I don’t forget.

Guess you’d call me chronologically challenged.  Anyone else out there have the same problem?  Please tell me.  I’ll feel so much better.