Daylight Savings Time is upon us. That time where many of us here in the States (aside from the smart people in Arizona) adjust their clocks forward in hopes of having some extra time in which to do their outdoor chores. For many of us, it’s a time that the curses to our alarm clocks become even louder.
I do this asinine thing where I adjust the clock by 35 minutes because I HATE when I look at my clock and it tells me that it’s still before 7:00. Deep down inside I know that it’s 6:35 when it goes off, but seeing the numbers as 7:10 makes me feel better for some reason. I think it has to do with the serotonin levels or the fact that I’m part idiot on my dad’s side. Not sure. I know enough to mumble, “fuck” every morning when I try to do the calculations of how many times I can hit the snooze button while still ensuring I have enough time to get read for work. It works out to something like this:
- Snooze once – entire morning routine, no impact to arriving to work on time
- Snooze twice – skip the leg shaving, approximately 5 minutes late to work
- Snooze three times – dip head under faucet and go for full shampoo, approximately 5 minutes late to work
- Snooze four times – everything is totally fucked no matter what
I know the outcomes, but I still have to go through the process every morning. It’s just as well, all that thinking makes it harder to go back to sleep anyway.
This morning when the alarm went off it made it harder to weigh the pros/cons of the snooze vs. cleanliness debate. Mainly because I had been robbed of that hour of precious sleep. Lord knows how I managed it, but this time I managed to actually get to work on time – for the second time this year.
On the bright side, there was still light out. Nothing makes me feel as accomplished as getting home and putting my pajamas on while there’s still sunlight out. It really brings an element of pride to know that I’m sitting on the couch, eating chips out of the bag, wearing flannel pajamas, and watching repeats of “Dateline”.
So hear I am, all tucked up on the couch, remote control in hand, setting sun behind me. Ready to go and excited to watch what mystery will unfold, when it hits me – the sound of the neighborhood children scream outside. Tis the season when youngsters who have been cooped up for an entire season begin flocking to the streets in masses. They climb trees, they play ball, they play hide-n-seek, they yell, they scream, and then they yell some more.
Damn little bastards.
In somewhat related news I’ve suddenly become an old biddy.