Apparently I will be losing a week out of my future. I discover this today while trying to write down some thoughts about a possible family adventure.
I flip through my calendar, which for the last year and a half has been basically useless during the pandemic, and I am excited because now I can start adding things to it. You know, things like: “Legally allowed to leave the state of Massachusetts,” and “Won’t be arrested for crossing the Maine border.”
I am trying to make some tentative plans for the weekend of July 24th. I open my calendar and discover that an entire page is missing.
That’s right: July 23rd to July 28th do not exist in my future. Apparently I am going to somehow teleport directly from July 22nd until July 29th.
I find this aggravating because I truly do want to make plans for those days. I might get on a plane. I might go kayaking. I might be setting up a tent. I might want to walk someone’s dog. I might be sipping beer at a brewery. I might be reading a book.
I cannot do any of those things if those days vaporize from my future.
I suppose I should be relieved that the calendar picks up again, so at least my hiatus appears temporary. I should also be relieved that I will never buy this brand of calendar again.
Life is short already. Let’s not add to the melodrama with a catastrophic and disconcerting printing error. Save that crap for my gravestone . . . in the future – far, far into the future.
