Occasionally I am reminded that I tend to live in the future. At a weekly newspaper, we are constantly looking into the future for what we need to write about. Upcoming events, movies and festivals are often written about side-by-side with articles about what has happened (the news). By the time we send the issue to the press on Tuesday night, we at the Weekly are already thinking about what is going to be published in the next issue. This provides for some strange discordance with our lives.
I am constantly thinking about what is coming up one, sometimes two weeks in the future. Sometimes I even believe that I am living seven days ahead of everyone else. I must conciously make adjustments when speaking to people who have just read the previous issue. It sometimes strains my short-term memory to remember what we just published. People have usually just read something that I am already two weeks past.
For instance, last week, in this very space, I wrote about my misery dealing with a springtime ritual ... the spring cold. Over this past weekend, I had mostly recovered from my ailments, snot and all, but most readers were just learning about my clogged sinuses, watery eyes and sore throat. Many people I ran into expected me to be a walking hot zone. They kept their distance and asked how I was doing, treating me as if I were on my deathbed. While I felt like death four to five days before, I pretty much recovered by then.
As I write this, I still have a little cough in the morning, the last phlegmy remnants of the disease, but by and large it's over. By the time most of you read this, even that will be gone.