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My ability to identify what day we're on significantly diminishes each week. I could understand waking up on Thursday and thinking it's Friday, or Tuesday and thinking it's Wednesday. And even these instances really are only ok if it's a fleeting misunderstanding. But going through entire days at a time without any concept of what day of the week it is= loony. I feel like Dwight in that Office episode when Jim convinces him it's a Friday. (at 4:14)

Today was no different than the last few weeks of my unbridled confusion. It really has a lot to do with my stubborn aversion to sleeping in the bed and by stubborn aversion, I mean I always accidentally pass out on the couch, which, despite my staunch defense otherwise, really isn't that comfortable. At all.

So I wake up at 2pm today and go through the routine "pleaseletitbeaweekendpleaseletitbeaweekend" chanting to myself as I flit about the apt trying to find something that will tell me what day we're on. (Perhaps the most ridiculous aspect of this routine is that I consistently ignore the most obvious date indicators, like a calendar or my watch. And go straight for things that might help put things in context. Like "ok Thursday was a client meeting, I wore a suit, is the suit on the bottom or top of my laundry? AGH..TOP! It's Friday! Wait. No. Was the meeting Wednesday? Did I have a meeting? I'll check my work mail."

Today turns out to be a Saturday, which is great.

I turn on the tv to see it's the 6th inning and I start to get panicky all over again, because maybe my clocks and everything in my apartment is wrong, and it's not Saturday at all.

When I tuned in, Andy was unbelieveable. Only had let up 1 hit and then Girardi took him out arguably a little too late. I, for one, am not going to argue that. But I imagine other people will since Girardi's really unfortunately gotten loser status. Not literal loser. But loser as in the person in high school who tries really hard and no even when she wears the same trendy clothes as the cool kids, she gets criticized for it. She can't do anything right.

And the problem really wasn't the damage that Andy had done, because there wasn't any, but the verrry difficult situation that Aces was handed. Maybe I would have tried to let Andy finish it out, but 20-20 hindsight. And I love Aces, he was 1 out from sidestepping the whole As rally that changed a swift, empty game, to a 6-1 game. 5 runs is a big deficit even for the Yankees and their longball.

But old habits die hard with this club and they fell off the wagon. It was back to struggling against egregiously mediocre rookie pitchers and then trying to compensate for this display by sweeping the deficit underneath a homer-rug.

It almost worked, when Jeter's 2 run blast and Tex's solo cut the lead down to 2.

But the rest of the team must have fallen asleep on their couches last night, too, because the bats were slumbering like what.

Sometimes when ARod goes 0-5, I'm ok with it, depending on how the pitches to Tex looked. But today G-Wiz wasn't exactly scared of any of the lineup (why should he) and Tex wasn't seeing a whole lot of pitches that indicated a fear of seeing ARod. Curve after curve and he never saw em coming.

Maybe that's the real key to beating the Yankees. Shifting your perception of their hitters. They all always seem to know what pitch is coming.

Usually that's the case with Justin, whose slider obsession is not really fooling anyone anymore (excepting yesterday).

And so the Yanks fall short. I miss most of the meat of this game. The highs and lows actually, since I slept through Andy's sick outting and then fell back asleep for Aces' sick outting.

Now I'm going to address the fact I'm moving in a few days and haven't even so much as put a book into a box yet.


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