No, I didn’t drink it into oblivion like Ray Milland (though, that might be a plan for future weekends). Instead I just kind of forgot about Saturday¹. Which meant that when I woke up this morning I was so happy to realize I had the holiday off. I got up, I read for an hour, I worked on the present I’m knitting for a friend, I went online and (finally) ordered the replacement bits I need for my computer, I put on some music and sang my way through whipping up a pan of mac-n-cheese.
And then I put said macaroni casserole into the oven, turned off the stereo and turned on the radio … and discovered that today is, in fact, Tuesday, not Monday. Right. And by then it was 10:30 and I was 90 minutes late for work. Right again.
So not cool. So not the way I wanted to start this week. So not the note on which I wanted to end my very pleasant long weekend.
Here’s hoping I have my act a little more together for the rest of the week …
¹ Why do I flag Saturday as the lost day? Because Saturday was the do-nothing, laze around recovering from a surprisingly exhausting work week day. Sunday I was out and about. Sunday there was housework and errands. Monday, too. So they felt like weekend days, not like a time out in the land of brain dead inactivity.