I’m just jabbering though. I have no insight. If you came here looking for some answers, you better order pizza. Might be a while and you’ll need the protein. Then you might want to have a nice long lie down, because, well, all I have is questions. You know?
Why do we have these talk shows with exhibit A accusing exhibit B of cheating because, well, A cheats and ergo B must cheat and is lying when she/he says he/she doesn’t. Lie detector tests notwithstanding, you will find no real answers with reality tv. If you must air your grievances on international television, requisite with name calling, pointing fingers, yelling over each other, and the threat (or perhaps actual) need for fisticuffs, well. What is the point? How does that help the human race, your country, your city, your home, or, indeed, your relationships? I suppose if you make enough cash to pay for some therapy, there might be something in it that’s worthwhile.
Hey listen, I’m no relationship expert. No. Not at all. Last thing I should be doing is giving advice. I’m just saying, why is it what we now entertain ourselves by airing our failures and hurts to everyone else? Isn’t it bad enough to get through a bad relationship or feel that you made less than successful choices for yourself? Why tell a few million people as well?
I had a thought, though, when I was making my peanut butter and banana sandwich just now. (What? Oh, tea. Yes, tea and a sandwich. Late lunch. Afternoon snack. Writing fortitude. Anyway.) It occurred to me that I should stop telling you that there is no point to this. If I keep impressing that point upon you, you might start thinking there is no point to reading this, and then give up reading it, because, well, what’s the point.
Which brings me to the topic of time changes. Ever since we were young, for the most part, those of us who were young and had watches, ever since then, we’ve had this routine unilateral imposition imposed upon us: the time change. For some reason, in the Fall, they want us to leave work in the dark and turn our lights on before ‘The Young and the Restless’ even starts. (Which leads me to point out that Eric Braeden is no spring chicken, but that’s another subject entirely, best reserved for another time when we may discuss the relative merits of ‘young’ soap stars, and laundry. No, I shudder to tell you when I first started watching it, but I can confess that Nikki and Victor were not yet acquainted. Jill was Katherine’s maid, as I recall. Yes. Long in the tooth. Quite. Now, may we get back to time?)
Spring forward, fall back. Lose an hour, gain an hour. It all evens out in the end, doesn’t it? Well, does it though? Think about it! Spring comes around and you dutifully change all the clocks that don’t change themselves or resolve to remember to deduct an hour from those you are scared to change, like the clock on the stove, which will then decide it’s frozen in time and refuse to allow the oven to work. Or the clock in the car which, if you set the wrong buttons, will resolutely remain on the local country music station. (Oh, nothing. It’s just a joke really. Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to offend anyone who likes country music. I like it myself. Shania, Faith, you know. What? They aren’t true country? Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know. Well, consider me properly corrected. Shall I change that to classical music? What? Oh. Well.. all news all the time? Okay? Okay. Whew.)
Where was I?
Alright, so every spring you spring forward and lose an hour. Would be nice if you could lose a few pounds then too. What if every spring all doctors offices and clinics and hospitals and home scales all automatically corrected themselves to be ten pounds lighter? Then you truly could spring forward, very happily, despite the loss of sleep. I think that should become law. Anyone want to take up a petition?
Every fall, things even up again. You get to sleep an extra hour to make up for the one you missed all those months ago. Yay. Now you don’t have to worry about changing the clocks that you couldn’t change last time for fear your life would tumble out of control and you’d end up cooking things in your toaster oven or chronically late for appointments. (What? OK. Chronically later. Satisfied? Sheesh.) The fact that darkness is closing in is mitigated by the fact that that hour that was so coldly wrenched from you has been returned.
But wait.
What if you stuff it between April and November? Seriously. Someone owes you an hour. It might be an important hour too. They might have just come up with a vaccine, or the surgeon gets back from the golf course, or they find out if you brew a tea of swamp grass all will be resolved. But you miss the news because you went too early, bereft of an hour. That’s not really fair, is it?
