Sometimes it's just convenient to pass the buck. Blame someone else for shortcomings, mistakes, lost socks in the laundry. Oftentimes reassigning culpability leads to guilt - I mean, you didn't really want everyone to think the dog licked the icing off that cupcake, did you?
This time I feel no remorse, no guilt.
I blame Daylight Savings.
I keep forgetting it's Sunday. I'm completely convinced it's Monday. There can be no other explanation than the unbalancing due to this lie we all so passively accept.
The unsettling feeling doesn't end there either.
Last night I began Jean Hanff Koreltitz's Admission and was sure it was non-fiction. Yeah, I suppose the subscript of "A Novel" should have been a clue to the fictitious nature, but somehow that didn't register. For this too I blame Daylight Savings. Brilliant as I am, it couldn't have been my mistake - it must have been that we're conditioned to accept misinformation. The clock reads 2:02am on March 13th? Lie. It's really 3:02am.
The one thing we all count on (literally) and plan our lives by is jumbled, befuddled, tumbled, and rumpled. And obviously the consequences are much more severe that anticipated - it takes more than just a minor mussing to muddle my mind like mint in a mojito.
But really, what should have we expected? This whole charade was dreamed up by a man who wanted more time to collect bugs. Not to mention, the first practitioners were the Central Powers of WWI. Certainly a wonderful role model for major societal decisions.
So you, DST, you are to blame for my lost socks, my missing quarters, and my confused double takes at the calendar. Happy hour may be a bit brighter now, but otherwise, my nontraditional Arizona has it right.
I hate the lies. I can't tell you how badly screwed up I am for MONTHS because of the spring forward time change, and how depressed I get in the fall when we fall back. Growing up in Arizona doesn't really prepare you for the fact that the rest of the world is crazy, does it?
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