Fall back in Bosnia

So, there was a time change over the weekend. Did you know that?

I didn't. Where was the memo?

What this means is that I have been an hour off for the past two days. Well, there's one of us in ever crowd. And in this crowd that one is me.

Damn my husband's selfish hyde for being in the States. Generally, the two of us pass the torch of cluelessness back and forth to one another. When one of us drops the ball, the other one catches it. Usually. I'm almost fairly certain that, maybe, one of us would have remembered to turn the clocks back. Monday morning's conversation would have been,"Dude, why are you up so early?" "I'm going to work." "Now? The time changed, fool." "Oh."

If we had that conversation yesterday, I wouldn't have shown up an hour early for pilates class today. Bastard. So there I was, alone at the scarily deserted gym at Zetra, and, later, after I had reasoned things through, wandering around this park. Pretty, no? In the distance, you can see Zetra and the Olympic tower from the 1984 Games. I was literally under the tower when I realized the rest of the world remembered to fall back except me.

What this minor debacle also signals to me, if not to you, is that I need a job. If I was employed, a co-worker would have saved me from myself Monday morning.

Sarajevo, hire me.

Now.