Today I came back to work, and that is how I know that it is in fact June 6th. When we left for The Old City, it was a Sunday. We came back Tuesday a week later, and in the middle the only date I was keeping track of was JD's birthday, and even keeping track of that was more than a little half-assed.
After we got back, I had two full days home, and then, on Friday morning, I got on another plane and went to a City not my own, to teach in a camp-type thing for pretty smart high school students. Which meant that most of the two days in between were spent rounding up and packing all the supplies I would need to take with me. And yes, it was mostly my fault that I was doing this at the last minute. I did mention I was no good at the whole productivity thing lately. Yes?
The camp is on a pretty contained campus, so while there I wasn't much keeping track of dates, except for Sunday, when I was acutely aware of missing Monkey's preschool graduation. But other than that, there was too much work to worry about little things like what day it was.
Those two days in the middle were strange. The first one was all go-go-go. I got a lot done, and even started thinking that maybe I was getting back to being able to actually work. The next day, though, that was a whole other story. It was a kind of day that if I didn't have to get on the plane in the morning, I would think hard about spending in bed. Not having that option, though, I dragged. Everything was an effort-- writing things down, thinking things through, doing anything at all. I had to constantly push myself, remind myself that the day was indeed finite, that there were still things to get done, and a hard deadline at the end of it all. Driving was the worst. I was anxious, and couldn't tell you why. I was sad, more than usual, more even than a usual bad day. I was walking through molasses.
After I got almost all of it done, I had to sit around for a bit waiting for a colleague. All of a sudden it hit me. See, when we left for The Old City, in my mind May was over with. But in reality it wasn't. That last day, the very hard day, molasses day? That was the 31st-- 4 months exactly since A's birth, and only a second such monthaversary afforded me so far. Most months I get the day he died, but I only get the day he was born half the time. Apparently, JD is better at this calendar thing than I am-- he had a bad day too, but he knew why. I didn't know, but I guess I knew.