Ever get lost in your calendar and become convinced it’s another day? Several weeks ago I spent an entire Thursday sure it was only Tuesday. Every time I remembered, it was like this little bonus. Today, however, it didn’t work out so well, as it was Friday in my mind while everyone else was slogging through another Wednesday. Every hour or two something would happen to remind me that I was the one who was confused. The frequent jolts back to the Land of Reality were unpleasant at best.

If anything, this evening’s activities made the condition worse. Nothing says the weekend has arrived like an evening get-together on a friend’s back porch, complete with margaritas and snacks. I’m now at risk of not going in to work at all tomorrow morning, and have instructed one of my coworkers to call me if I don’t show up. I almost hope she doesn’t; I could use the sleep.

Please understand — I really like my job, and I love most of the people I work with. But, Lord help me, I do despise my alarm clock. And so I yearn for the weekend with every fiber of my being, just so that I can wake at dawn out of habit instead of obligation, which probably explains my confusion about the days — it is my body’s way of telling me I need a Saturday, no matter what the calendar says.

The chronological confusion has only worsened since our evening margarita consumption, not just because of the alcohol but because of an incident that occurred shortly afterward. Now I’m not even certain what year it is. 1989? 1991?

Here’s why, and this one’s really embarrassing, so be gentle. Turns out there’s a New Kids on the Block, version 2.0, complete with a group blog wherein each member signs his name with an exclamation point. (Yes! You, too, can read blog entries from Danny!, Jonathan!, Donnie!, and Joey Mac!! Isn’t it exciting!) They even have new music, which is where my chagrin kicks in, because to my everlasting shame I found myself almost sort of kinda tempted to tap my foot to “Summertime” when it played on the radio a few minutes ago. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to go buy the cassette tape and listen to it forty-eight times in a row like, uh, some people I know did during their first round of popularity. (Hey, I never claimed to be proud of my middle school years.) But it was kind of catchy. It also whisked me right back to the late eighties, a time I try not to visit all too often.

Before being reintroduced to NKOTB this evening I still knew what year it was, even if I couldn’t always pinpoint the day with 100% accuracy. Now I can’t even be certain of that much. At least I have music and margaritas to console me. Sing along with me, will you?