Without a word of a lie, I can swear to you that all week long I have known that this weekend is Easter, and I have known all week long, that Easter is proceeded by Good Friday. I mean, I have a calendar. Somehow though, this knowledge didn’t really translate into the understanding that this week really only has four days in it to accomplish anything – rather than five, and it was Sam who brought it home for me this morning. Joe’s away, and so I have the car, and Sam’s been bucking for a drive to school. She usually takes the subway, but a drive lets her sleep in – and so she’s always keen to hook a ride. School is on the way to work for Joe, and so he usually dumps her on the way a few times in a week. Monday she started working on me, and me, I have a busy week, so I put her off with a promise that I would drive her one day this week. One day for sure. The days have passed in a blur, me stuck at my desk, on the phone… working on something that needs to be done this week. This morning – Sam was particularly slow moving, and when I suggested that she put a little hustle on it, she reminded me that I’d said I would drive her.
"One day this week!" I exclaimed, sort of distractedly, as I rifled papers on my desk, figuring out what I would do today, and what tomorrow. "Not today Sam."
Sam looked at me like there was something totally wrong with me, and then, as delicately as possible, pointed out that this was the last day of school this week. That tomorrow is a Statutory holiday. Nothing is open, not school… nothing. Canada is, she reminded me, closed.
First my head exploded, then I got my car keys, because a promise is a promise, and then, then I drove her there while working through the trauma of a lost day, making a desperate list in my head.
Saturday (where am I going to buy baskets?) was the day I was planning on having (oh, man. I need to do the Easter grocery shop) this little sweater (Wait! This means I have to go to the Post Office today) done. I’ve got the body done, (body – dammit, I need to get the body of that essay written) and now it’s on to (hold on, I can’t go to the bank tomorrow now) wee arms. Saturday (how much of this can I do Saturday?) is starting to look like a silly goal, with all I have to do today (crap, I forgot to buy eggs) I suppose I shouldn’t give up yet (where the hell is that statement) a baby sweater arm is really less work than the leg of a sock (hot cross buns. I need hot cross buns) and after all, tomorrow (I need to buy that birthday present before tomorrow too) everything is closed.
Maybe I can knit.
(Oh no. I forgot about buttons.)