This Saturday night will be a night of unimaginable horrors, of treats so tasty at the moment, but paid for dearly long after the sweetness has left your mouth, of excesses that will leave you so sozzled that when you wake up, you won't even be able to tell time.
I speak, of course, of daylight savings.
That's right - for all you folks who haven't heard, set your calendars: between Saturday and Sunday, we "fall back," gaining an extra hour of sleep so that the government can control what time of day they want the sun to beat in like a painful reminder to your eyelids of the protestant work-ethic this country thrives on. Talk about a witching hour.
Now Sunday morning, we might all be thankful that, after a night spent dressed like a pregnant Jesus, from your mental film-reel sequel to "Junior," we'll be given a grace period from our own lives, an extra hour of blissful oblivion with which to wash away the residue of our sins.
But come Monday, when your whole body is no longer in revolt against the painful stabbing sensation of sunlight, you'll start to wonder: is it worth it? Because on Monday night, the sun will set fully an hour earlier than it has been recently, which, if you live at a latitude near or above my own, means that your Monday sunset will clock in well before 5 o'clock.
Which, if you're in a job that keeps anything like a regular schedule, makes it possible that the only sunlight you'll really get to see all day, all week long, is the brief bit shining through the subway grates as you head underground for your commute to work.
On the plus side, seasonal affective disorder, i.e. feeling more depressed because the sun's not shining, is a really great excuse for all the nesting, scarfing of "hearty" foods, and lifetime-movie watching that I would be doing all winter, anyway.
-Posted by Jilly
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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