What day are we on anyway?

Another day at the computer, pounding away at a self-imposed assignment. Hours pass and I do not notice. Outdoors, there is a transition from morning dark, to noon light and finally late afternoon dark, but I am oblivious. The only marker I have of the passage of time is in the traffic that I see outside the front window: from neighbors (in their night gear) picking up newspapers (why do people subscribe to the WStJ?), to obsessive yard pruners whacking away at the trees, to a child’s birthday party across the street, with the usual rush of cars dropping off eager attendees and, two hours later, the pick up flood, with parents walking their tired young ones back to the car, bending over them, asking “did you have a good time?” and the kids, wanting to kick the shins of the adults who ripped them out of a good game of “destroy everything in the house,” answering “uh-huh.”