Disorientation

I rolled over, groaning, and reached for my cellphone to determine the time.

2:08 am.

Or was it?

Because the clocks were supposed to change. So if my phone automatically updated the time from the satellite, it was 2:08 am, only it’s really 1:08 am, because nine minutes ago it was 12:59.

But staring glassily at my phone I can’t remember if it automatically updates, and this suddenly becomes crucial to me. I must find out, right now.

I call time.

“Good morning,” she says. “At the tone, the time will be three eight and forty five seconds.”

Ok so it doesn’t automatically update. But I remember this now, hazily, from time changes past my phone and I have spent together. Something about it updating after you make a call. I flip it shut.

2:09, the display says.

“Damnit,” I say, “it’s three oh nine!”

My phone looks blankly back at me.

Maybe it has to be a longer call.

I call the movie theatre’s automated hotline.

“This is automated show information for the Coast Cinemas, located at the corner of Franklin and Madrone Streets in Fort Bragg…”

The phone slips from my hand as the recording continues and I fall back to sleep.

I wake up a few hours later because something is digging into my side. It turns out to be a lone post-it, separated from its fellows. I reason it must be before six, either way, because it’s dark outside. What time it is, exactly, I am not sure. I have been disconnected. My hair is encrusted with post-its, which rustle and crackle like winter leaves when I move.

When I wake up again, it’s light outside. The jumbo post-it in my window has fallen askew.

6:43, the phone says.

But wait.

Is it? It should have updated from the satellite by now, but I’m not sure. Paranoid, I call time again.

“Good morning,” she says. “At the sound of the tone, the time will be 7:44 exactly.”

I flip the phone shut.

7:44, it says.

“You fickle wench,” I reply. A post-it crunches between Loki’s jaws in agreement. The bed, I realize, is covered in partially masticated post-its. Mr Shadow is covered in a creamy yellow blanket of them.

It is time, I suppose, to get up, since work starts at 10. Only it’s really nine, because…

[time change]
[post-its]