What's The Time Mr. Wolf?

"What's the time, Mr. Wolf?, What's the time?"

This song, which only know from it's inclusion in a great movie I saw in the middle of the night, months ago, on the independent film channel, is ringing in my head on this cold Virginia morning.  IT isn't because I have forgotten to put on my watch this morning, and it isn't because I know anyone named Wolf, either.  The reason is because I seem to have a really bad sense of time.  Stay with me, here.

This morning, I bounced out of bed, showered (I didn't shave, because I shaved on Wednesday, and I have a baby face), looked at my middle-aged-but-not-yet-homely face in the mirror, and was about to get dressed when I had a thought:  I didn't know what time it was.  I remedied my lack of knowledge by consulting the clock next to Mrs GF's sink... it read 3:04.  As in 3:04 A.M.

I wasn't amused.

To tell you the truth, I was a bit confused, because hadn't I heard the alarm clock go off?  Hadn't I gotten the little shoulder tap from Mrs GF that says: "time to get up"?  I guess I was just on auto-pilot, which happens to me sometimes.  I'm so sleep-deprived these days that I am just not functioning right.

It's going to be a long day.