I may or may not be messaging from the right time vortex

There is a place I go sometimes called reeling around like I just made it through a level 4 Halo shoot out in Valhalla (ok, I'm borrowing a visual from a game) where everything in my regular routine is so upside down and inside out that I go a little slack-jawed from shock and ask the nearest person where the portal back to the Devron System is, like a noob, only I don't really want to go to the Devron System, I just want to replace the ice cream cone I dropped. Except I wasn't eating an ice cream cone.

And it's not over yet.


I keep wondering why my head is on the wrong calendar week and have decided it's probably because I'm so dreadfully behind on Doctor Who that I caught #timefailpox and have barely been saving near misses with appointments right and left. At this rate, I'll be wondering why trick-or-treaters are showing up on the wrong day. I've procured the Thanksgiving turkey, though, and stuffed it into the downstairs freezer. Get it? Stuffed the turkey in- oh, never mind.

Let's just call it a bad week and let it go. It went defcon two days ago, universes collided, possibility storms whirled around us, and my actual birthday may be/have been/will have been blown up and the only way not to get cake smashed all over everything is to not make cake.

But I got this.