I had a horrendously busy day at work today. And I do mean horrendous! Imagine being on the phone almost constantly for 7 hours, stopping just long enough to take a leak and grab another cup of coffee before starting the next call, which like the previous call will last from 1.5 to 2 hours — patiently showing for the 1,000th time a new client how to set up and use an online cash management application. And the voice messages and e-mails cascade in and there’s no time to respond to them until well after what should have been quitting time.
Throughout the day, though, in the back of my mind, I kept remembering that 3 years ago, February 22 fell on a Friday. But I didn’t work that Friday, for a good reason. And 2 years ago, when it fell on a Sunday, I wasn’t even in the country.
I thought 3 years ago that I was beginning a new chapter in my life. And, in fact, I was. I really was. We really were. Except I didn’t think back then that it was going to be such a short chapter. And such a sad one, looking back.
The kicker: He’s so bad at remembering dates that I doubt he thought about it as I did. I could be wrong on that. But I doubt it. I really do.