Twice this week Iíve woken up and been unsure about whether the numbers on my bedside clock referred to A.M. or P.M. (my tired brain couldn't associate the little dot with one or the other, and the dark Seattle sky was no help). This morning instead of waking up to typical NPR noises, I caught them in the middle of playing a long excerpt from Bruce Springsteenís "Glory Days" and I was unsure about whether it was 1984 or 2004.
Oh shit, I thought. Iím thirteen. Not again.
I actually had a pretty good day at work, mostly because I was so relieved it wasnít junior high.