A Day Made of Taffy

At 4:50 this morning, the alarm went off. I stumbled to the alarm clock, suffering from a literary bender. Three nights ago I was reading a book that featured native philosophy chiding Anglo-Europeans for refusing to live in the now. It talked about segmenting our days in such a way that we are constantly reliving the past or anticipating the future. Good point, I thought. So I took off my watch. It was just as well. I was scheduled for a day-and-a-half of classes at work and being fixated on my watch wasn't going to buy me a thing. The watch was still off two nights ago. Two nights ago, I picked up a book at 10 p.m. and read until I couldn't. So I have no idea when I finally went to sleep. I do recall that Tuesday Morning has a vengeful attitude that doesn't play well with the rest of the day.

Last night I finished the book. Heh. And my wife calls me stubborn. Where does she get that? It was a good book that ended too close to the start of the day to make today much of an improvement on Tuesday. My little silver lining was that I would be out of work at 2:30 this afternoon. So, at 2:30 this afternoon, as I was logging out for the day, a notice popped up reminding me of a meeting from 3 to 4 p.m. When I returned to my desk, my absent boss had become present. He'd also left me a message asking me to edit and submit a report. Then I became a damp shoulder for a co-worker to lean on. Then I found time to corner my boss in his office and ask him a question. After I returned three phone calls, I was a free man. 7 p.m. Nice.

So that's why the title of this bit of whinery is "A Day Made of Taffy." It had its sweet moments, but it stretched and stretched far beyond the capacity I imagined it had. Now, at 20 minutes 'til 9, I'm officially calling it. It's a day.