Time’s Relative

I’ve officially entered the phase of pandemic life where I’m losing where in time we are. Not what day it is. Work makes that hard to lose.

No, no. What I’m losing is the relativity of time.

Just last night (looking at the calendar, 2 nights ago, oy) I tried telling my oldest that his birthday was one month away. The issue? It was 2 months away.

Yes, I’m fully aware it’s July, but for whatever reason it feels like it should be August. Hopeful thinking perhaps? Trying to wish the rest of 2020 away? Who knows.

I just know that I’m doing this more frequently lately. If I find myself trying to guesstimate how many weeks away something is out loud, I’ll make a statement and in the back of my mind automatically know it’s wrong. When I try to think it through for the real number, I draw a blank.

Dates seem soon, but so far away. It’s like my calendar is just on one big rubber band in my mind.

It’s all very odd.

I can’t help but wonder if this is an inevitable part of getting older, or if this is a special form of forgetfulness that’s due to COVID-19 and work from home life.

Just be forewarned: If you try to plan something with me, chances are high I’ll agree, but then I’ll constantly question you how long we have left until that thing. It’s not my fault, the rubber band of time keeps stretching and contracting on me.

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