It is 4 AM Friday morning. I’ve been sleeping in two-hour increments. I made the mistake of sleeping on my side (left) which activated pain receptors in everything attached to the right ribs. Okay, so the solution is to put the foam wedge back on the bed and sleep on my back. And that works, for the two hours it takes for me to slide down the wedge until I’m flat.
But that’s not why I’m posting. Yes, I’m in mild pain for which I will take a one-every-twelve-hours extra strength acetaminophen at 4:30. But when I rolled out of bed, I glance at the wall clock (3:51) then at my digital alarm clock (4:51) and realized that it’s That Time of Year and the alarm clock has jumped the gun to Daylight Freaking Stupid Time!!!
I am retired.
I am no longer a slave to the clock.
Waking at 4 AM is only a big deal because it is "quiet time."
I can’t crank up Dance Dance Dance with my Hands Hands Hands. [Wednesday Addams dancing to Lady Gaga]
I can’t crank up any of my Audible Library or YouTube favorites.
I am a mature adult (tchah, right) who is above petty vengeance for the grandchild with the VR headset who shouts and screams through his games while stomping and cavorting on my ceiling.
I have sworn off… toned down my anti DST rhetoric in recent years. I usually just mention “my biannual DST Rant” and maybe add some dark muttering, and anyway those Facebook posts no longer exist. I hates it, I doessss.
The mature thing to do is to simply remind all you wage slaves out there to adjust your clocks, the ones that aren’t self-adjusting, before bed Saturday night. It would be irresponsible for me to encourage everyone to call their representative, senator, minister of parliament, alderman or whatever public servant you have at 2 AM Sunday morning to express your opinion of DST. Note that I don’t care if you’re pro or anti – make the call and let them know.
I will feel so much better about it all.
This has been a public service post.