"Today is Sunday," I told myself when waking up this morning, with the unspoken but understood "Not Monday" added to that. Why am I doing that? Am I afraid of missing days? Which I've never done before, so it'd be an odd fear. Though it's good that today's not Monday because I woke up just after 8:00 (late night last night).
And it applies to days, not hours. I can think it's earlier, hour-wise, than the current time. An annoying truth: I'm slow to start on weekends. It's a bad habit. I combated that Saturday (i.e., YESTERDAY) by going for a walk in the 7 o'clock hour, which is more inviting now that there's a little more light. Maybe the "think it's a later day" thing is me trying to compensate for that: I'm wasting hours, but not wasting days. Maybe.
"Welcome to my brain," as S.J. Tucker says. Anyway, as I write this, it's 10:22 a.m. on Sunday, Jan. 31st. Treat that as a fixed point in time. And then move on, which is what I was going to do anyway because time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin', into the future...