I used to wonder how on earth someone could not know what day of the week it was.
"Is this Tuesday, or Wednesday?"
I would look at them skeptically and wonder why you would even need to ask that question. Did you completely skip Tuesday? Did you just return from time travel, unsure how much time you spent away? Yesterday was Tuesday. Tomorrow's Thursday. Duh, it's Wednesday.
Then, of course, I always heard people saying the only way they could remember what day it was, was by thinking of the things that were happening that week. Grandma's denture fitting on Monday. Ferdinand's didgeridoo recital on Tuesday. Clementine's initiation into Knit's of the Round Table on Wednesday. On and on.
Things have changed since then though. All week I've been confused as to what day it was. Actually, I even got May and July mixed up. I'm pretty sure the only reason I know what month it is, is due to the fact that I've been writing a screenplay. That's got to mean ScriptFrenzy, and SF takes place in April.
Speaking of ScriptFrenzy, Sam and I have reached 84 pages. Since we've run out of plot, things have kind of been rambling along. Interesting tid-bits we weren't expecting popping up here and there. We have no idea where this whole thing is going, but we do know we only have 16 pages left of the challenge. We also know The Romantic Plot Trasher will not be winning any Academy awards.
Anyway, here I am. Only knowing what day tomorrow is because I get to go in and find out about that wonderful thing where dentists rip the big kid teeth that are supposed to give you wisdom from your head. Duh, tomorrow's Thursday. Oh... wait.