Do you know what happens when you get caught up in life and neglect your blog?
What happens to me is that I have four unfinished drafts and a lack of focus.
BUT! That doesn’t mean I can’t blog to you eloquently and extensively about a very important topic.
Like, time change.
Are you ready for my first eloquent, extensive statement about time change?
Time change is stupid.
Daylight savings time was sprung on me in my early thirties. We didn’t usta have it here in Indiana, which I like to think means we had more intelligent people living here, and they died off or moved
to Illinois and we had to conform.
I’ve never understood it. I don’t seek to understand it. I’m very grateful that my devices are on top of it, because in previous years, I had to call my dad and ask him what to do. I think it’s just the numbers I find so intimidating. It’s too much like math. Maybe it is math.
And what the fuck does this mean? (UTC-05:00)
How the hell am I supposed to know what my number is? These are not rhetorical questions, please feel free to educate me in the comments section.
Flight tickets are also on my shit list.
I don’t even like time in general. Time seems moody and unreliable. It moves too fast when you’re having fun, and it drags on when things suck. I don’t think it’s all about perception. I’m pretty sure it gets warped during deployments and slows down considerably while I wait in the pediatrician’s office. And rate times time equals distance is just a suggestion. I’m sure it’s not real, because no one counts stop signs or runway traffic, or how hard it is to maintain speed while
beating the children into submission trying to explain to the children how toll booths work.
Time is all about appointments, meetings, deadlines, and alarm clocks. I hate to be late, but I really wish I could do things, everything really, on my own time. It’s a deeply psychological problem, which may be genetically transmuted to me by my Seminole great-grandmother.
I channel her sometimes.
Somethin in nature calls to me in the “night,” waking me from sleep, when I don’t know what it is…We’re supposed to be diurnal, ya know.
Like this morning, while I could have gotten another hour of sleep, I surely channeled Great-Grandmother. I woke at 4:40am, presumably to hunt gators, kill invading Spaniards, or to make myself a mug of the black drink…
But since I am now too White, too far removed from Earth’s cycles, too far from the Tamiami Trail, and not at all worried about Spanish invaders, I didn’t know what natural phenomenon woke me, and I was therefore compelled to curse my lost sleep and then just to get up, make my creamed-out coffee, and work on my NaNoWriMo.
I gained nothing.
Because this sleep I borrowed from myself will not be returned to me later.
I’m absolutely certain that my great-grandmother would not understand time change, and furthermore, she’d wonder why we’re all borrowing the future with interest. We’ll take an hour now and we’ll give it back later.
I think I need a nap.