We had been on lock down for about four weeks when things started—changing. Maybe changing isn’t a good word for it, but that’s what we’re going to use.
I was trying to sleep, when the madness began. For whatever reason that night, I could not remember how old I was. I tossed the numbers back and forth for a while, even tried to do some math; but at two o’clock in the morning, math’s not my thing. It’s not my thing at any time of the day to be honest.
After laying there for a while, tossing my numbers, I decided I was thirty-three. I let it go and went to sleep. The next day at work, I was still dumbfounded that that was what had kept me up. I was laughing about it with the other technicians when the pharmacist cut in.
“When were you born,” she asked.
“1985,” I told her.
Three seconds. That’s all it took for her to do the correct math.
“You’re not thirty-three,” she exclaimed, “You’re thirty-four!”
Where did that year go then? I don’t remember it. I did the math in my head then, SHE WAS RIGHT. So, somewhere I’ve lost a year. Okie-dokie then. I moved on with my day, still in utter confusion on where that year went to.
A few nights later, I was working on an article around midnight, one of the photos I selected to go with an article, was a photo a friend had taken of me just two days prior. I was about to hit upload when I noticed something was off.
Looking at myself in the photo, it was something only I, or a close friend could tell. It wasn’t a huge difference, but I could tell. My backside was—larger. Or maybe, it was the angle of the photo? Probably the angle. The more I looked at the photo though, I wasn’t convinced. So, I hopped up and weighed myself. To my surprise, I had gained six pounds. Um.
I still uploaded the photo with the article. What can you do?
When I got to work the next day, I was a year older and six pounds heavier. I was still okay with everything though. When the pharmacist asked me to call a doctor’s office for a patient, I took the back line. It rang four times and the following conversation happened.
“Thank you for calling Dr. Smith’s office, this is Tina, how can I help you?”
“Well, Tina, I have no idea,” I told her, “I can’t remember why I called you.”
For the life of me, I couldn’t pull it out of my brain. The pharmacist, (the same one that broke the news to me about my age) shouted from the front of the store.
“You’re calling for a PA!”
“Oh yeah,” I said, “I need a PA.”
The nurse wasn’t amused in any fashion. Neither was I, honestly. I’m a year older, a little heavier, and my minds going.
It’s cool—it’s cool.
I was trying to sleep, when the madness began. For whatever reason that night, I could not remember how old I was. I tossed the numbers back and forth for a while, even tried to do some math; but at two o’clock in the morning, math’s not my thing. It’s not my thing at any time of the day to be honest.
After laying there for a while, tossing my numbers, I decided I was thirty-three. I let it go and went to sleep. The next day at work, I was still dumbfounded that that was what had kept me up. I was laughing about it with the other technicians when the pharmacist cut in.
“When were you born,” she asked.
“1985,” I told her.
Three seconds. That’s all it took for her to do the correct math.
“You’re not thirty-three,” she exclaimed, “You’re thirty-four!”
Where did that year go then? I don’t remember it. I did the math in my head then, SHE WAS RIGHT. So, somewhere I’ve lost a year. Okie-dokie then. I moved on with my day, still in utter confusion on where that year went to.
A few nights later, I was working on an article around midnight, one of the photos I selected to go with an article, was a photo a friend had taken of me just two days prior. I was about to hit upload when I noticed something was off.
Looking at myself in the photo, it was something only I, or a close friend could tell. It wasn’t a huge difference, but I could tell. My backside was—larger. Or maybe, it was the angle of the photo? Probably the angle. The more I looked at the photo though, I wasn’t convinced. So, I hopped up and weighed myself. To my surprise, I had gained six pounds. Um.
I still uploaded the photo with the article. What can you do?
When I got to work the next day, I was a year older and six pounds heavier. I was still okay with everything though. When the pharmacist asked me to call a doctor’s office for a patient, I took the back line. It rang four times and the following conversation happened.
“Thank you for calling Dr. Smith’s office, this is Tina, how can I help you?”
“Well, Tina, I have no idea,” I told her, “I can’t remember why I called you.”
For the life of me, I couldn’t pull it out of my brain. The pharmacist, (the same one that broke the news to me about my age) shouted from the front of the store.
“You’re calling for a PA!”
“Oh yeah,” I said, “I need a PA.”
The nurse wasn’t amused in any fashion. Neither was I, honestly. I’m a year older, a little heavier, and my minds going.
It’s cool—it’s cool.
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