I have always hated it when the time skipped ahead an hour in the spring. It means getting up earlier after staying up later – at least until my body adjusts to the difference – but this time is more dreadful for another reason.
Ever since Honey and I have started our new jobs, there doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day. The fun starts at 6am and usually ends in an exhausted collapse sometime around 9:30pm. Somehow, we manage to get the necessary chores done in the few hours that are left between getting home from work and bedtime, but just barely. It seems like the days are flying by at break-neck speed now, so I’m sure going to “fast time” (as the old-timers call it) won’t help matters.
I’ve been catching myself daydreaming about a vacation in Florida, where I can sit on the beach and do absolutely nothing, where I can watch all my cares float away into the horizon, and where a minute actually consists of 60 seconds. Pure bliss.
In the meantime, at least I’ll have an extra hour of daylight in the evening.