When am I...

I spend several hours tonight trying to figure out what day this is without having to check my phone or computer. I found nothing in my mind.  Nothing about yesterday or today or the morrow that might anchor me.  I floated in a sea of blankness, trying not to drown.

Does it matter?
If my bills are paid and Amos and I are fed, does it matter?
Does it matter that I know not when I am?

I was cold. I watched my first hummingbird drain only one of the four feeders, never tasting the nectar of the others. I twitted Firewood Man about the length of the grass as he mowed and laughed at his retort, "But you like the grass to wave at you. I was just trying it make sure you could see it with your bum eyes."  I ate a salad. I watched a new-to-me BBC detective show set in Italy. I traced my fingers once more across my favorite bit of the 77th psalm in the 1715 Bible, because it has bothered me that the preferred translation of the Lutheran Church—sadly, not the NASB1977—does not have that bit.  I cajoled Amos into braving the fearsome grass to tend to his major business.  I ate a Granny Smith apple.

But none of that is an anchor. I did not know and could not ferret out when I was. When I am. Not without the help of Apple.

Does it matter?