This time of year, I work more than the normal forty hour work week and a weekend off is a thing of the past. When life travels at a million miles an hour, I tend to lose track of the days of the week. I spent most of the day this past Wednesday thinking it could possibly have been Friday.
Perhaps it was just wishful thinking but Fridays really mean nothing to me from May to October and thus begins my confusion. I have actually come to thrive on NOT having weekends off in the summer. My mid-week day off is far less chaotic in terms of getting things done in the small tourist town I call home but it does nothing to alleviate the perplexity of knowing the day of the week.
I’m sure I am not alone in the quest to follow the weekly calendar. Life marches on whether we are able to keep pace, whether we fall behind or whether we skip ahead a few days. It’s a sure sign that we need to take each day in stride and not let ourselves drown in the wave we are riding.
Time forces us to grow, to shift, to adapt. Every time we blink our eyes the world shifts beneath our feet and moments evolve into days. It is no great mystery that we lose some along the way but the important part is that we keep our head above water.
Every 24 hour period ends in the word “day” and, although the frantic pace of life inadvertently makes me think I’ve missed one or two, I’m just happy I keep living to see another one.