Today is Sunday.
That sentence has been revised. It originally read: Today is Saturday. But as I typed that sentence, I realized that I was wrong. Today isn’t Saturday; today is Sunday. My internal clock wakes me up around 7am and tells me to head to bed around 10pm, but because my body/life has fast forwarded 15 hours since Monday, I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that today is Sunday and not Saturday.
I lost a day: Tuesday, June 25th never happened for me. I skipped it. Passed it over. I was somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, I suppose, when I encountered the 25th, but it didn’t last long.
On the 24th, we left Chicago in the early evening, arrived in LA on the same day, and got on an AirNewZealand flight to Auckland. It was still the 24th. When we arrived at 6am in Auckland, it was the 26th. And when we arrived at our final destination, the Brisbane airport, it was noon on the 26th.
I don’t lament the loss of the 25th. After all, I’m basically on vacation/holiday and have been since May, but it’s jarring all the same.