Beware the ides of... March?!

I’m bad with calendars. I’ve always been. It’s just one of those skills I never took much time to perfect, and to be perfectly honest, keeping up with planners and calendars sorta goes against the grain of my private Dean Moriarty mindset. I don’t really want to know what’s going to happen next. I don’t really desire to have my life mapped out day to day.

     I want to get out and have it happen to me.

I don’t like calendars. They get in the way.

But -- they’re cheap and easy gifts to give, so I usually end up getting one or more of them every year come Christmastime.

And in a way, that’s cool - because calendars given as gifts rarely come with any sort of expectation for a heightened sense of punctuality on my part. Even if people wish I was better at remembering anniversaries or when my days off are, whenever I get a calendar as a gift it’s usually because someone remembers that I think the onion is funny, or that I like to look at women’s breasts .

Last year Kim got me this very cool calendar featuring the artwork and illustrations of Maurice Sendak, who is a favorite of mine.

I brought the thing in to work with me and hung it on one of my cubicle walls. Then, when January rolled around, I opened it up to the correct page. A little personality was injected into my cloth cell, everything was cool.

I even remembered to change the page when January ended.

Early this morning, March 28, a few days from the start of the next month, I came to the sudden realization that I had not switched my calendar over from February yet, and that I was running out of time before I would have to switch it again to April..

So I step over to the wall where the calendar is hanging, fully intending to turn the page displaying an illustration Sendak did for a Sergei Prokiev opera called The Love for Three Oranges, when I realize that the picture staring back at me is from Oliver Knussen’s Higglety Pigglety Pop!

The calendar has already been switched to March.

      who the hell’s been messing with my shit!?