It's a funny story, that

One morning, I woke up and it seemed like everything was different. People I could only vaguely remember kept dropping in and wishing me well. All I could do was thank them and sort of smile. They seemed to think everything a lot more significant than I did. And it seemed like they had all changed. Like they had grown older overnight, but not just that. They wore odd clothes and shoes. They spoke in weird phrases and used words I had never heard before. One morning when I was talking to Will’s grandson (which I found strange because I could have sworn Will was just a child, not a grandfather and dead), the topic turned to politics. I expressed my outrage at President Harding’s conduct in the Teapot Dome scandal; that little tyke told me that President Harding had died in office and that had been eighty-two years ago. Turns out, I had been in a coma for some eighty-three years. Well I’ll be! A real-life coma! I was a bit depressed to hear that my old Ford Model R had been junked some seventy-plus years past, but that’s the way it goes, I guess.