“I wouldn’t know what day it is, if I didn’t take pills.”
Yup, that was the first thing I said this morning. Then I realized how just how much things had changed for me in the past three years. I am now learning what day it is by a pill sorter. Being home with Ken everyday has suspended the outside world in certain ways, and this is one of them. Knowing what day it is has become more important to me than what time it is. Interesting isn’t it?
Time is such an interesting concept. It changes with age and circumstance. When you’re young and have the world by the tail, you measure time. An alarm clock wakes you to get ready for work. You go through a morning routine and drive to your destination. If you have a desk, there’s a calendar sitting there, showing you what day it is. If you don’t have a desk, there are certain activities you must do in a given day. It’s not like that when you stay home everyday. Believe me, I don’t miss being jarred from sleep by some digital nuisance or fighting traffic and construction work on the highways. But I do miss knowing what day it is.
When we all lived on farms, knowing what day it was wasn’t important. People worked from sun-up to sun-down. Arriving a few minutes late didn’t mean we’d be “written-up” by a on-time supervisor. Measuring time came about during the industrial revolution. Factories and offices had to run on schedule to fulfill orders and get goods to market–on time. Days of the week, hours, and minutes became more important to keep things moving in an orderly fashion.
It isn’t until you are disabled or retired–or at home with someone who is– when the concept of time slows down and hours and minutes don’t matter as much. So strategies must change. Now, I turn on the television to discover what day it is–or I just take my pills.