I’m not one of those people who gets all mad when we have to change clocks twice a year. I mean, I kind of get a little put out by losing an hour of daylight when we Fall Back. But I love fall and we get an extra hour of sleep then, so it’s all good. And then when we Spring Ahead (or Forward, depending on your preferred colloquialism), I figure it’s just the payment for the Fall Back. It’s only fair.
Also you get to check your smoke detectors. I checked mine. Yup – it’s still lying, disabled, on the nightstand in the spare bedroom after the December Debacle.
I suppose there was a harbinger, since I didn’t think we sprung ahead until Sunday-Monday. Fortunately, someone at work reminded me. When I got home a little after midnight Saturday-Sunday, it was sort of actually, not officially or body-clock-wise, but for all intents and purposes, a little after 1am. As a responsible adult (dammit), I knew this meant I couldn’t have a nightcap. Instead, I changed all the clocks that wouldn’t change by themselves – why do I have six clocks in my two-bedroom apartment, by the way?- and read a lovely bedtime story about Nazis for a while until I was tired enough to go to sleep, which was actually 1:45am but in the New World Order had magically become 2:45am. But only in the Eastern time zone. And I got up at 10.
Or was it 9?
Anyway, I got up when I was supposed to so I could go do all the stuff I have to do on Sundays, like sing at Mass and then get gas and go home and get changed and eat and do a final edit on my blog post for the day and post and get my dinner together and leave for work and then actually work.
I thought I had it. I was awake. I had slept mostly okay. Contrary to most of my life, I wasn’t even running late. My clothes were more or less in the right places on my body. I was good.
Then I put lip gloss under my eye instead of concealer.
I blamed it on the fact that the lip gloss tube is shaped so much like the concealer tube, even though I had a mirror in front of my face as I did it. And despite that mirror in front of my face, I didn’t realize I’d streaked gloss under my eye until I tried to blend it with my finger.
* Eyes and brain not synched to same Realization Setting * Flux capacitor not fluxing * *Abort * Abort *
Apparently, I wanted to hide my dark circles with Rimmel’s Endless Night Stay Glossy Gloss. Endless Night is exactly what you want to remove from under your eyes, commonly. (Aside: you’d think “Endless Night” would be black as all get-out, but in fact it’s a lovely shade of pinkish-brown or whatever. I don’t know. The company is British. Those people love irony.)
The tube says it’s made to last up to six hours (“up to” meaning “anywhere from immediately after application to six hours after if you don’t move your mouth or eat or drink anything”). But it wiped right off from under my eye, and I didn’t have time to contemplate the contradiction, so I proceeded with my day.
Do you ever wonder why preceded and proceeded are not spelled more similarly? I always have to look those up.
I did the church thing and I did the home thing and I did the get changed and go to work thing and I was only 18 minutes late (or 42 minutes early), but then I kind of always am a little late since my commute is 50 miles one-way and is not unlike a Japanese game show with various unpredictable obstacles and/or giant body-smacking rubber hands jumping out in front of me. I was also late because I had to get my dinner together, which required making a salad… hello?... washing and chopping things takes time, people. But it’s important to be healthy, I decided as I nommed on six Keebler Deluxe Grahams (best when refrigerated) and cut and wrapped a brownie from the baking dish so I wouldn’t be compelled to buy something from the vending machine for after dinner. And then I had to find a bag that was big enough to carry the containers my dinner was in.
I mean, I was basically exhausted by the time I got to the car.
At work, I was a machine. I was on fire. I was churning out project elements like it was my job.
With five minutes until my first deadline, I had one more element to do and I was concerned because some parts of it had to be done by someone else, and they weren’t in the file yet. I banged out as much as I could, sent a message to my co-worker that my part was there for review, repeatedly checked the file to see if the other co-worker had saved his part yet, and then looked at the clock.
I checked several clocks, actually, because we usually don’t have it that together at work and there’s almost always at least one clock that’s an hour off, from some time two years ago when it got changed for one season and never again for another.
It was, in fact, an hour and five minutes before deadline.
Apparently, I sprang forward two hours instead of one.
Now I was bored, and recovering from an unnecessary panic attack.
When it was time for dinner, I scarfed down my food like I had something to look forward to or get to. I was in a hurry, like there was a reward at the end. I kept thinking there was something next. But there wasn’t. There was only working. So I chilled out, only to find myself feeling behind at 8pm.
I wondered if I’d been dosed with propofol again.
But I got everything done… and only got thrown off once when I realized we’d left out a pretty important element. I was glad I could have the nightcap when I got home this time.