Have you ever lost a day? You know what I mean. It’s one of those times when you have it in your mind that it’s Thursday and it turns out to be Friday. Ah, there’s much rejoicing that follows that little discovery. It’s gone from being Thursday to Friday and just in time to enjoy the fact. Tomorrow is Saturday and that’s when all the good cartoons come on. Oops. Sorry I was channeling a much younger me for a moment there, but you get the idea.

Well, friends, I hesitate to tell you that I lost a day recently and it was not Thursday or Friday. No, my friends I lost the best day of the week even without the cartoons factored in. I lost a Saturday! I assure you there was no rejoicing. All day Saturday, I thought it was Sunday and I treated it like a Sunday. Nothing against Sunday; it may be your favorite day of the week, but I’m a Saturday kid.

I missed out on that great Saturday morning feeling. It’s a feeling left over from childhood and it’s a pretty sweet feeling. On Saturday, Monday is miles away, and responsibility is tossed aside for the duration. Instead of watching cartoons or enjoying that sense of total freedom, I got mentally ready for Monday.

Now, if you will, just like I did, flash forward past the Saturday I missed. Now, it’s Sunday, but not in my world. No sir! The alarm clock went off at 3:30 like always. I went in the kitchen for coffee, did all the things one does to get ready for work and dutifully showed up just before 4 a.m. I was in the midst of getting ready to go one the air when I noticed something. The calendar on my phone said it was Sunday. I made a mental note to reset my stupid phone calendar.

I went in the control room and noticed that the atomic clock on the wall said that it was Saturday. As you can well imagine, this did nothing to abate my angst one bit. It’s an atomic clock, for heaven’s sake. It’s supposed to never be wrong. How was I to know that the darn clock had the right time, but the wrong day of the week? My confusion was compounded by this unwanted information.

I started to panic about then. I was sure there must be something seriously wrong with my memory. I just knew I had something like 24 hour Alzheimer's. I field tested myself and found that I could recall my second grade teacher's name and in which hospital I was born, thereby ruling out a scary diagnosis. I’m not certain, but I could have sworn I heard the theme to the Twilight Zone playing softly in the background.

I finally had the bright idea to check other equipment in the building to get a handle on what day it was. The National Weather Service had Sunday’s forecast up on their website and yet, that damn atomic clock thought it was Saturday while I was just positive that it was Monday. Are you following this? . I couldn’t take anymore and texted a friend of mine whom I knew would be up at that hour and she confirmed what I feared most. When all she said was, “Its Sunday”, all I heard was, “Son, you missed a Saturday.”

It took me until around dinner time yesterday to finally feel like it was Sunday. I don’t ever want to do that again. I just had a weekend with no Saturday in it leading to two Mondays in a row. I had what amounts to a three day weekend with two Mondays and no Saturday.

By the way, there were no adult beverages nor “performance enhancing drugs” ingested by anyone involved in this story. .

If, by chance, you saw me on Saturday; what did I do?