What Day Is It?

I must say that the oddest thing about being off work for a long stretch is that the days of the week don't carry the meaning they normally do. Potentially, every day could be Saturday. In a sense, I've had seven months of Saturdays. The only thing that gives my week some form are my physical therapy sessions every M/W/F. During the first three months of this span of time, I made an effort to get out of bed at a reasonable time and be bathed, dressed, and ready for the day. I made it a point to have some reason to leave the house, accomplish a task, meet up with friends. I was recovering from surgery then, and wasn't scheduled for PT. I expected to heal up and get back to work, according to the average prognosis for my condition. Then the set-backs set in. I didn't have a normal recovery, I had post-surgical complications that required extra trips to see my ortho surgeon and approval for physical therapy. I took advantage of Work Comp's indecisive wheel grinding process to visit Martine and deal with some family issues. As long as I was there, I had some serious sis-bonding time that was very enjoyable. A mere three days from returning home I got the phone call that PT had been approved and was scheduled for the following week. That was four months ago. I'd love for TGIF! and HumpDay to mean something to me again. I always loved the restorative and peaceful feeling of a Sunday when I worked a regular week. Now it only feels different because the newspaper is bigger, the crossword is more difficult, and the funnies get their own section.