Twice this week I’ve woken up and been unsure about whether the numbers on my bedside clock referred to A.M. or P.M. (my tired brain couldn't associate the little dot with one or the other, and the dark Seattle sky was no help). This morning instead of waking up to typical NPR noises, I caught them in the middle of playing a long excerpt from Bruce Springsteen’s "Glory Days" and I was unsure about whether it was 1984 or 2004.

Oh shit, I thought. I’m thirteen. Not again.

I actually had a pretty good day at work, mostly because I was so relieved it wasn’t junior high.