Endlessly, year after year, twice per annum, at least since I’ve been charge of the job, I have faithfully picked up time pieces, wrestled alarm clocks from deep under the bed, tugged clocks off of walls, and punched beeping buttons on all sorts of newfangled things. All of this because some idiot thinks we can save time by resetting clocks.
Last I checked, there are still 24 hours in a day, or there about, depending how picky you want to be. I’ve wasted a whole lot more time than I’ve saved in this process. The idiot owes me a whole lot of time, but I’ll never have enough of it to wait for him to pay me back. On the other hand, I’ve been told I’m living on borrowed time more than once, but we’ll leave that discussion and balance sheet for another day.
All of that twisting and turning and pressing has led to it being pretty hard to tell what time it is to do what around here. It’s led to disregard, if not disdain, for schedules by me. Being retired helps and lessens the pain from doing that, mostly anyway. The cat is not all that happy with meals schedules and is willing to discuss the problem with me.
Most of my angst stems from that silly “spring forward, fall back” or “fall forward, spring back” thing. Problem is, I can never remember which one it is. Neither one makes as much sense as they both do. The trouble began with the solution I came up with quite a few years back. It seemed sensible at the time.
Not being sure which it was, I figured I might as well turn some of the clocks forward, some back, and leave a couple right where they were, especially the ones I couldn’t find. As far as the car goes, who knows how to reset that damned thing anyway? Something had to be right. Being married, this didn’t bother me as much as it did my wife. I was used to being told what to do when anyway. She seemed to be annoyed by the arrangement. I never could figure out why. I keep meaning to write her and ask her why.
To further complicate things, right after I started caring which clocks got which treatment, I forgot which clocks had gotten what in the past. Random chance didn’t seem to be working all that predictably. I’ve got a feeling it’s not going to get much better considering I forget where I put my glasses ten minutes ago or my car keys a few hours ago. I’m told it matters which clocks to do what to. I’m still waiting for the final decision.
Anyway each of the past three or four years I have faithfully done all of that resetting stuff, alternating which time thing I do, the forward or back thing, as I discover where all the time thingys are. I can’t remember where I started or which route I took around the house last year, but I’ll mark it down somewhere this year. I might have done that last year but I can’t find the note.
A tour of this place might amaze a dedicated clock watcher. None of the clocks, even in the same room broadcast the same time. While that makes it difficult to figure out which ones need new batteries, there is something somewhere there to please anyone who has a particular favorite hour of the day. It seems a shame I have to get about upsetting the balance again. But the idiot and the television tell me I have to.
Then again maybe I’ll just leave things the way they are. As it is, it’s happy hour somewhere in the house all the time.