How come I never know the date?

Up until a few years ago, I did a job that entailed writing lots of letters to lots of people about things far too boring to divulge here. It was far from a stimulating role, but it did bring one advantage that I did not appreciate at the time – I always knew what date it was thanks to the number of times I had to type it out on any chosen day.

I was able to respond with confidence when someone enquired about the day, the month and the year – a feat which made me feel like a proper grown up, an organised person.

Now that my job doesn’t involve writing any letters, it takes me about a fortnight to realise the month has changed, let alone having the ability to reel off the number that correlates to the day I am experiencing. And I don’t think I ever fully acclimatise to a new year –  I even managed to tell my sister that our wedding date is in April 2010… which is physically impossible without the accomplishment of time travel. She was kind enough not to mention it.

The thing is, it’s not like I don’t encounter the date now that I don’t write letters for a living. In fact, the date is a string of characters I see on a worryingly frequent basis.

 

So, that’s at least four times I see the particulars of any given day, but for some reason my brain refuses to acknowledge it.

In fact, as if on cue, I had just decided on using today’s date in those drawings – and then I realised that I didn’t know what it was, despite it nearly being tomorrow and having had a full day to acclimatise. I am a law unto myself.

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It was only by pure chance that I realised I should post the second blog of the week today. This is because I have lots of fun things planned over the next few days and I have only just realised that the first one falls on a Thursday, and the next few keep me busy until Monday. They are all written on the calendar that sits right next to me at work, but I only just figured out the fun is due to start tomorrow and that tomorrow is scheduled blog day. 

Tomorrow, evening I shall mostly be drinking lots of wine and eating delicious Spanish food at a fab tapas restaurant that’s doing a food and wine evening. I shall try to pace the food and wine more evenly this time because I like to think I am capable of learning a lesson.

Friday we shall be having a couple of drinks with old friends... but it needs to be a fairly sedate one, because on Saturday:

We’re off to Nottingham to do some touristy stuff – none of which will be Robin Hood related – and to have a 7 course meal at Sat Bains’ restaurant. Even the thought of browsing the art and craft market that’s within strolling distance of our hotel is eclipsed by the prospect of eating proper nice tucker.

I is, as they say, well excited. Especially because my inability to keep track of the date means that the fun times start, unexpectedly, tomorrow. Being unable to pay attention can be a great benefit sometimes.