Forgetful

Every now and then, I forget where I am.  Even though I’m much more Minnesotan than Bostonian, I still think that ER broadcasts on Thursdays at ten p.m. instead of nine Central Time.  I catch myself doing simple math before calling my parents: “His meeting finishes at half past three, and it’s four here, but… oh, it’s four there too.”  And on Monday, years of ordering a delicious vanilla chai to go at Caffe Paradiso (“Three dollars, please.”) were automatically recalled when supervisor A asked what kind of tea I was drinking.  “Vani… no, just chai.”  (Yes, there is a difference.)

I had a point to all this, something about force of habit and frames of reference and the length of time it takes to make a place feel familiar, but I seem to have forgotten precisely what it was.