I have no idea when I am now.
What day is this? What month? What year? I have no idea.
It’s not the short weeks at work due to the holidays. It’s the isolation. There are no rhythms now, no structure. Days feel indistinct and indistinguishable from one another.
What does Tuesday mean? Or Saturday? They’re all the same. Time is a formless mass of gray oatmeal.
Happy New Year, for whatever it’s worth.