Turn Back Time

Right now it’s 7:30 in the morning but it’s really 8:30 or is it? The time change, in either direction, twice a year messes with my head and my stomach. Why am I so hungry at 10:30 in the morning? Oh right, it’s really 11:30 and I’d be eating lunch by now.

Each year when we “fall back” I try in vain to ignore the new hour on the clock. I want to turn over a new leaf and capitalize on this gift of time. I want to be an early riser. This year I won’t squander the gain. I have high hopes for my new efficiency. How will I use that extra hour each morning? Will I exercise? Will I write? Will I get all my house work done?  Maybe I’ll accomplish all three during that one hour. Probably not considering I never made it to town hall to take advantage of the early voting.

There’s not much I like about this year’s election. I’m voting like the Megan Trainor song: “Nah” to the “Ah” to the “No”, “No”, “No”. Except this election season I’d vote in the affirmative for a referendum that turned back the clocks every weekend. Party on Saturday night and never be late for church again. Except we are. always. late. Amen.

It’s Sunday morning, the clocks have been adjusted and I’m running late for church. The hour I gained last night I’ve already lost between the snooze button and my extra long shower. Like the movie Groundhog Day, when I see the clock on Sunday morning, I predictably roll over and blissfully sleep away my big plans of efficiency. Tomorrow, on Monday, I’ll spring out of bed and grab that hour by its horns. Except by Sunday night I’ve already adjusted my bedtime and the extra hour has vanished. Pouf! Gone.

I’ll get the chance to try again next fall, but I’m sure if I could turn back time, I’d do it the same all over again.

cher

 

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