Is it still Monday....?

I love cooking because I enjoy eating.
Naturally, this makes me an excellent cook, as my stomach can silently attest. It is round and full and beautiful.

My general routine is to finish my short shift, zip through the Thrifte and then come home and cook/eat dinner. My energies start to wane around 16:00 hours. A good little tasty and delicious dinner warms my body and soothes my soul, improves my mood with well-made food.
Oh, how I enjoy my dinner.

Cooking on all four burners, while roasting something or other, it was apparant that some calamity had befell my stove. T'was the breaker and in a trice I was once again cooking. The digital display was mocking me with flashing 8888888's. I set it. I remember the time.
T'was 3:21. How can I be so certain? Let us just say it was portentious.

Finishing my meal with a smile and a satisfied sigh, I decided to read.
Two books and a bath later I noticed it was 23:00 hours. This is most unusual for me to be up on a work night, so I went to bed, still feeling incredibly good.

The realm of sleep being what it is, I was out and about in the Universe, care-free and visiting elsewhere and whens. An annoying sound seemed to be accompanying me. It was alien to the dreamscape. It troubled me so greatly I woke up. It sounded like a very muted smoke detector. Same obnoxious decibel range. Was I on fire? Was someone else in my complex? I went downstairs and awakened fully when I realised that it was coming from the area of my stove. Looking at the stove clock I noticed it was ( --da da dum-- ) 3:21 in the a.m. hours.
Apparantly in my cooking delirium, I had set the alarm and/or timer for this time. BAH.

Could I return to sleep?
Of course not.
By this time it was closer to 4 a.m.. I naturally awaken at 05:00 and I was not sleepy enough to effortlessly fall back into a sleep. The obvious solution was to go out for breakfast. Tasty bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. Yes yes, it was a fine start to the day.

Around 14:00 hours when I was pulling into my parking space, it was somewhat obvious I need my eight hours so greatly, that even getting out of my car was wearisome. Naturally I had dinner. It was delicious simmered steak and gravy with winter squash baked with brown sugar, baked potatoes, and leek and onion sautee. Yummy.

My friends came to visit around 16:00 hours and found the front door standing open, dishes all over the kitchen, my work papers scattered about the floor and me, comatose and fully clothed in my bed.
They had thought perhaps I had been burgled until the one who knows me best thought to rouse me sufficiently to answer questions, in my sleep of course. They left me a note and locked my door as they left.

Dreaming of all sorts of interesting and exciting things, I was lost in layers of nonsense when again, a strange sound awakened me. It was my radio, which had been blaring the CBC for hours. The subject matter of the programme explained immediatly why I had been dreaming I was a geisha.

What time was it? What was this note pinned to my shirt? Why did I had gravy all over my beloved books?

It was 21:00 hrs, the note was from friends and the gravy was from myself. The slumbering gourmet. I cleaned my bed up, went downstairs and ate some crackers and cheese, picked up the papers, fretted over sleeping the entire afternoon away, and then promptly reascended the stairs to my room and laid back down, still fully clothed and instantly fell back into sleep, radio still blaring.

It was 5a.m. and I awakened feeling marvellous.
Apparantly some of us absolutely MUST have our 8 -10 hour sleeps.
Or fourteen.

What day is it?
Is it still Monday?