magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

Just recounting the chronology of today would not offer any insight into how strangely out of time and place I felt during most of it. The chronology makes sense. I was busier than I usually am on a Sunday, but things already felt weird by about 10.30 in the morning. It felt like a weekday afternoon. Three or four o'clock on a Tuesday or something. But I wasn't at work, which only added to the feeling of misplacement.

Brunch at Life, around noon, with Emily.K, did bring me back at bit to the weekend. Then it was actually into the office for two hours, where I was the only one working. And then to Central Park for my monthly book club meeting. Margaritas and a couple of glasses of wine. And home, nearly nine o'clock but still light out.

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There's a way of feeling that over the years I've come to associate with Sundays. Its an insular, lonely feeling, as if the entirety of the world doesn't extend much beyond the walls of my immediate surroundings. Not simply of being physically confined, but of being metaphysically confined, the entire scope of reality having been temporarily narrowed.

While today's feeling contained a similar element of metaphorical whitening-out at the periphery of perception, and maybe a bit of the requisite undercurrent of loss, but with the sense of confinement traded out for a sense of misplacement.

I'm making it out to be incredibly more dramatic than any of it really was. We all get the feeling every now and then that it's Wednesday when it's really Friday. The relative speeding up, slowing down, and even jumping around of time is all just a normal part of existing within it. And in specific respects to today, I kind of enjoyed the more social than usual Sunday.