All the things

It could be Friday night.
Or it could be Tuesday evening
it is hard to tell
the temperature is the same,
my dog still lies in his bed
his ears perked upward
his nose in a bone.
None of the days seem to matter
though I know the importance of every moment
the irony is not lost on me.
I could still be living Glendale,
or here in San Bernardino
either way,
it is the same two beers before bedtime.
And all the things,
I thought I was longing for
are the very things, I've yet to consider.