Spring infers a certain bounciness, an enthusiastic bounding, if you will.
Since my estrogen packed up and left a few years back, it's more like me to traipse. Trudge. Take my good sweet time.
But spring? Nah.
So being prodded to "spring ahead" and push my clock up one hour before I go to bed tonight because Daylight Saving Time begins tomorrow at 2 a.m. makes me cranky.
As does losing a precious hour of sleep. Less Sleep Sunday. Bah! Humbug!
I'm feelin' a tad growly now merely thinking about it.
Not nice to mess with a circadian rhythm kinda gal like me. I drag around for at least two weeks, while my body and brain struggle to adapt to the change.
Being the stubborn rebel that I have always been, of course, I simply refuse to set my clocks ahead tonight, choosing instead to meander about my home Sunday morning trying to figure out what time it really is.
Or at least that's the way it used to be before the invention of computers and cell phones that automatically switch times for us.
Who looks at their stove or microwave clocks anymore ? And that damnable impossible-to-set clock in my car? It's been on Pacific Mountain Time for years. But I live in Iowa. Ba-da-bump.
Take my clock, please.
Anyway, while I mourn the 60 minutes of snooze time about to be lost as we move an hour ahead, I shall relish the thought of falling back an hour next fall.
In fact, if I could turn back time this minute, I would rewind to the year 1794, hunt down Benjamin Franklin -- who is credited with first conceiving the idea of Daylight Saving Time -- and throttle him.
Sorry Ben. Like I said, I'm feelin' a tad growly...
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