A day is only twenty-four hours long; in that way, all days are temporary. Contrariwise - in a four-dimensional perception, any day - every day - is what it is, with the events that happened during it - forever; it'll never change. In that way, every day is permanent.

But some days feel temporary; some days feel like transitions, as though we know that it can't always be that way, or that it hasn't always been that way. Yesterday was that sort of day; the kind of day that I'm happy to say goodbye to, simply because it was so unsettling. I never got a firm grip on the day - it kept slipping through my fingers.

The only way I can find to describe it is to tell the story of it - well, that's what diaries are for, anyway.

I woke up later than I had intended; the night before was Ethel's first night back from Indiana, and her father Bud came with her. So - right off the bat - I'm in an unusual situation. We have a house guest; one who can't climb stairs. Thus, we've brought the hide-a-bed downstairs (unusual) and have somebody sleeping in the living room (unusual).

Since somebody was sleeping in the room where I usually do my wakeup reading and prayer and quiet time, I wound up taking that time in our bedroom. This resulted in Ethel waking up early, which meant that my quiet time wasn't quiet. And - as always happens when Ethel wakes up before I leave - I got distracted (she is distracting, after all :) so I left later than late.

Since I was late waking up - and later leaving - I didn't stop for gas on the way to town when the fuel light came on(I know how much my tank holds - I knew that it would last quite a bit longer). And, being late arriving at the gym, I couldn't complete my workout. I did finish my ten mile run, but I didn't lift - but I told myself that I would run a second time, in the evening, and lift then. Still that feeling of nothing being right, nothing being finished or complete.

After my run, I showered - and found out that I had not brought my pants. Yep - couldn't find my boxers or socks or shoes, either. So I had to drive to Old Navy wearing my running clothes to buy some britches; I then changed in the parking lot into new cargo shorts and my Hawaiian shirt, but still wearing my running shoes (no socks).

It was my first day back in the office since the funeral, and that felt wierd - I've been working from home for a week, to oversee Silas.  And, even though I was back in the office, I couldn't seem to get anything done - everything I was wanting to work on was waiting on somebody or something else. But a temporary situation saved me - I was invited on an EAI (Employee Appreciation Initiative, I believe is what that stands for) by one of the development teams. Lunch and a movie - wheee!

Of course, I never eat lunch out - but, then, I didn't have my normal stuff at the office, so it seemed like a good idea. But, once again, everything was a "special occasion" or a different sort of situation or Not What Is Normal For Me (I rarely get to go to EAIs, anyway, since they are done by "group" and I don't have a group - on the Organization Chart, I'm a single box with a line drawn to the director of QA).

And then we went to the movie. Cloverfield might not be for everybody, but it is produced by JJ Abrams (the Bad Robot guy) and I found it very engaging (I sat there for several minutes after the lights came up just saying "wow"). The best description I can give it is "Godzilla meets Blair Witch Project". But - once again - I never go to the movies; this was the second time that I've been to a theater since moving to Arizona (the first was to see 300). So once again, I had that feeling of "this is not an everyday thing".

And then, when I left the theater to go to the gas station, I ran out of gas a half mile before getting there.

There is little that feels more "out of place" and "unusual" than walking along a desert road with a gas can. It took some time to get fuel back to my car, and then I had to go fill up the tank.

And then I had to go pick up a cable box (we're turning on the TV in one bedroom for a month, for my father-in-law - but, of course, we don't have television between January and August (we only have cable during college football season) so it felt darn weird, once again.

All this meant that when that "later" came when I was going to go back to the gym to run a second time and do my lifting, I didn't have time or energy. So I didn't finish my intended workout - that always leaves me off my feed.

When I got home, their was a bizarre mix of "normal" and "abnormal" - we were watching an episode of Lost on DVD (haven't seen one since Kim's mom died) but Ethel made us stop watching to sit at the table and eat dinner with Bud, my father-in-law - normally, Ethel won't allow an episode of Lost to be paused for longer than it takes her to answer the phone and tell whoever-it-is that she'll call 'em back. We were eating some good veggie pasta (back to normal cuisine after two weeks of eating weird) but supplementing it with store-bought fried chicken.

I was SO glad to get to bed - finally, things were normal. My little fan was blowing, Ethel was spooning me, and it was the best part of the day. And the only part that seemed to make sense.

There are folks who hate being in a rut (not to be confused with "being in rut") but I'm not one of them. When I'm in a rut, it's because I like that rut - I like that lifestyle, and have become adjusted to it and I'm comfortable with it.

When I get home tonight, I'm going to find my rut and dig in. If anything unusual happens, I'm going to yell at it until it straightens itself out.

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