Here today, gone ... where was I?

I'm just about as happy to see the calendar flip over to a new year as I am to reset my clocks for daylight-saving time.

It was only about six months ago that I finally caught up with the 21st century. Every time I wrote "1901" or "1902" instead of "2001" or 2002," I knew something was amiss, but I wasn't sure what.

"Look here, Mr. Sullivan, you put the wrong date on your check." How many times have I heard that?

No, I patiently respond, it really is Jan. 3.

"But it's not 1901," comes the retort.

OK. Big deal. It may be a hundred years to you, but it's only a couple of numbers to me.

"But the bank, Mr. Sullivan. What will the bank think?"

I suppose the bank will think most checks will have the wrong year on them for a while -- although most of them will be just a year off, not a whole century.

My problem with dates is not entirely the result of my age-advantaged station in life. Simply put, I don't mix up dates just because I'm old.

Part of the problem is the business of putting out a daily newspaper. In order to do that and get the paper delivered to you before the sun cracks over the horizon, we newspaper people have to do our work in advance, sometimes a day earlier, sometimes more.

Even though I've been doing this for nearly 40 years, I still find it confusing.

Sometimes folks come up to me and say, "That story today was the worst thing I ever read."

To which I reply, What was it about?

I'm not being a smart-aleck.

Well, at least not most of the time.

It's a wonder I've survived in newspapering, given my tendency to forget the here and now, not to mention the yesterdays and tomorrows.

My forgetfulness is legendary. If someone -- say a wife, for example -- writes a note to remind me of something really important -- bringing home the dry cleaning, for example -- the odds that I will actually arrive at our house with said dry cleaning are slim and none.

There's a perfectly logical reason for this. The note is written yesterday to be a reminder today. But when today rolls around, I generally forget that a reminder note was written yesterday. On good days, I remember the reminder note on the morning of the day when the dry cleaning is supposed to be taken home in the afternoon, and I write myself a note in the morning to read the reminder note penned by my wife in hopes that, perhaps by an act of God, I will actually either see the reminder note or remember to bring home the dry cleaning.

(I am not making up a single word of this.)

In an effort to get the dry cleaning home, I sometimes write myself additional notes with subtle nudges to remember to read the earlier notes. These mental markers say things like "Don't forget all those other notes" or "It's the dry cleaning, stupid."

But here's a fact that must not be overlooked. My wife can write notes to me and I can write notes to myself until the man in the moon brings home the cows in a month of blue Sundays. But if no one tells me to read these notes at the exact moment I leave the office, all hope for a successful delivery of dry cleaning to our home is lost.

Some people work hard all their lives to make lots of money. My dream is to have a personal assistant who will follow me around all day saying things like "The barber is waiting" or "Time to go to the dentist."

And "Don't forget the dry cleaning."

You should see how we carry on at our house when I actually remember to bring home the dry cleaning. Sometimes I do a little dance using some moves I've seen on TV in the end zone of a football game.

On second thought, maybe it's best you not see it.

But maybe you could call me on Tuesday afternoons to remind me to read the reminder note about the dry cleaning ... .

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.