Pin It We set the clocks forward Saturday night and I've been good for precisely nothing ever since then--including getting this post completed and posted in a timely fashion. (Sorry, comrades. :)
While I relish setting the clock back in the fall, for obvious reasons, I have always thoroughly resented this day just before Spring that steals an hour of my sleep and disrupts my body clock for what seems to be the entirety of the following week.
Sure, we get more sunlight in the evening. I'm always inside, though, making supper and doing the dishes, so that means little to me. In the eternal words of Homer Simpson, "stupid farmers." I now have to wake, though, in darkness...just when I was getting accustomed to rising without the aid of an alarm, attuned rather to the early morning sun filtering in through the sheers in my bedroom.
I didn't make things easier on myself this year, as I always promise I will, by going to bed early the night before and being prepared. Nope. I let Autumn have a sleepover, and spent a good portion of Saturday engaged in girlie activities. And then I agreed to fill in as a Sunday School teacher the next morning, and so spent a good portion of Saturday evening panicking and going over notes I'd been preparing for the past week. And then I had planned my Vacation Bible School organizational lunch meeting for Sunday following church, and so spent the tiniest sliver of time I had left before I collapsed with sheer exhaustion cooking and...well,...organizing.
And then I collapsed with sheer exhaustion, only to wake at 6:30 a.m. by the rude call of the alarm. This was when the full reality that it was dark, and would be thus for a while, hit me. I wanted nothing more than to burrow back under my covers and shut my eyes until the sunlight opened them properly, but I couldn't. I had more cooking and organizing and such to do.
I hate waking up when it's dark. Intensely.and.personally.hate.it.
But it's okay. I'll deal with it so the Farmers of America will have an extra hour of daylight with which to plant their crops. (Oh, wait. That was, like, a century ago. Do we still have farmers in America? Or do we just import every blinking thing from Mexico and China?)
I'm totally kidding. I love farmers. In fact, my husband has strict orders to plant a vegetable garden this spring, with all sorts of heritage vegetables and fruits and these lovely white sweet potatoes that I haven't had in years. That, along with the cows and occasional wandering possum, might almost qualify us as farmers, I think. But this whole Daylight Savings Time thing?
So not my idea.