I’m starting a movement, people. End daylight Saving time now, before we tear ourselves to pieces! It’s archaic, old-fashioned, out-of-date, antiquated, obsolete and redundant. I mean, we do this every. Single. Spring.
And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one still riding the struggle bus, 10 days in. My poor teenagers, bleary-eyed over their cereal, can’t even tell that it’s morning. “What’s happening, Mommy?” one whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek and into a bowl of Lucky Charms, to which she’s forgotten to add milk. “I don’t feel right.” Me, neither, sweetheart. Me, neither.
I’m going to bed at 8 p.m., waking at 4 a.m., and panicking every time I find a clock that I forgot to reset. The extra daylight also is messing with my internal ginge-o-meter (trademark pending), which measures my genetic vulnerability as a redhead to sunshine. The needle has been frantically oscillating between “You Can Go Outside Now, It’s Dark” and “No, Wait a Few More Minutes.” And it will only get worse. Come June, I won’t be able to enjoy the glorious freedom of true night until way past reruns of Jeopardy.
Is this any way to live, I ask? Must we continue on blindly, pretending we haven’t sacrificed a precious hour of our existence to the ancient gods of a long-since demised, agrarian-based society? Have we no decency? Think of the children!
So join me, and together we can, nay, we will end this DST madness (or at least force a switch to central time. Anyone with a map can see we should ally ourselves with fellow Midwesterners rather than East Coasters). Huzzah!