Everyone probably remembers a moment during the pandemic when time lost all meaning for them. Maybe you regained your sense of time as schedules solidified back into the real virtual hybrid we’ve agreed to keep for some of us.
I don’t recall ever getting back my sense of time. It started earlier than the pandemic for me. I slipped the time train tracks sometime after Trump was elected, before the pandemic hit, but definitely during the course of rebuilding my health.
Maybe sometime in late 2018 it became temporal displacement. And the variables involved in the perception of time and my own sense of where I am in time has been a common theme on the blog.
I’ll be dimly aware that it’s a weekday or a weekend if I’ve got someone who needs my attention or if I’m producing a specific outcome on a timeline. But otherwise I’m basically the the grand dame in Downton Abbey. “What is a weekend?”
It is in fact coming up on a weekend. A weekend where I don’t appear to have any houseguests or events planned or much necessary to be handled. I only have temporal obligations for physical care of my body. So maybe I’ll be able to slip further out in time or maybe I’ll align back to standard American work week. I mostly want to sleep.