Wild Kegger at Mrissa's House

I woke up at 5:00 a.m. with cramps. Wheee.

At 5:30, I said good night to timprov.

At 7:30, I dropped markgritter off at the airport.

At 8:00, I took missista in to be spayed.

I have the house allllll to myself (except timprov's room).

I think I'll look for a short story market and then poke at the first chapter of the Aesir noir novel.

No, really, hold my crazy self back. All this partying is going to wear me out.

Time, but no gods, and other ways my day was not Dunsanian

I have been both a virtuous and a spoiled Mris today. I sent out queries and sent out manuscripts and hunted markets and wrote cover letters and did revisions-to-request and revisions-for-myself and jotted down a new story idea and made notes on an old story idea and mopped the moose and fed the bear and painted Uncle Abner's underwear.

Also, none of you have better people to love than I do, though I will concede that some of you may be in a dead heat with me on this point.

Our household rhythms are syncopated and weird, with timprov's sleep disorders, but ordinarily they're present, at least. When markgritter is home, we have a fairly consistent pattern of when I go to bed, when he goes to bed, when I get up, when he gets up. Within the day, we know it's suppertime because markgritter is off work; within the week, we know it's the weekend because markgritter is off work. We have other milemarkers in the week and sometimes even in the day, but most of the regular ones are around his work schedule. And now he's gone for the second week in a row, and I'm feeling weirdly cut off from time itself. I had spontaneous bonus lunch with dd_b and got home at 1:30 -- I almost never have lunch with him on Mondays (I initially typed "Wednesdays," just to show you how messed up my sense of time currently is), and usually they're much later, and I rarely get home before 4:30. It was overcast, and the mail had already gone, which doesn't usually happen until 3:00. They're such small, mundane things, but they left me thinking at 2:00 this afternoon that it was 5:00 Thursday evening.

Naturally, this gives me the sense that I've hardly accomplished anything at all this week: here it is 11:00 p.m. Thursday, and most of the list remains!

Brains are weird, weird things. On what do you hang your time-markers? Anything? Do you get lost in time easily, or with great difficulty, or do you take steps to make sure you don't? Does it feel like Monday night to you, or like some other time completely?