I sprang up out of sleep and got a curious look from my dog.
What is it!? His eyes asked.
“CRAP!” I hissed back and warm waves of guilt slammed into me and repeatedly washed over my body.
I shook my head in disbelief. I had done it, or rather, not done it again!
After how many years now?! 3!? Last year I said, “It will happen next year for sure.”
This year I said, “Definitely!”
But here I am, sitting up at 3 am, sick as a dog, without a yesterday blog.
March isn’t my month. And there’s that high-expectation, disappointment one only feels when you let them down; there I go letting me down again, the highest expectation police I know.
Maybe next year will be the year I’ll get that extra day. Maybe next year I’ll get the 30 AND the 1 I always miss. Maybe next year.
For now I say a silent prayer, I’ll probably forget.
When the next March happens, add a little more health for me, and a lot less forget.