I’ve never had a problem with Daylight Savings time before. None at all. In fact, I distinctly remember asking one year if the time really changed, because I hadn’t noticed.
Not this year. No, this year, for some reason, losing an hour has literally kicked my ass.
I have been tired since Monday, which means I have had a headache since Monday.
And this week has been so busy with work-related functions/meetings/kickball playoffs!! that I haven’t been able to take as much as a cat nap.
Maybe it doesn’t help that all the clocks in my house (that don’t automatically reset themselves) still display the old time.
Well no wonder I’m tired, it’s REALLY six-thirty in the morning! I thought as I looked at my car clock on the way to work this morning.
The oven clock falsely told me earlier this week that it was 10 p.m. so I stayed up a little later watching recorded episodes of The Office on DVR.
Then, all of a sudden it was eleven — no, actually midnight. Stupid oven.
What is it about Daylight Savings this year that’s got me all turned around? Losing an hour seems like losing a week. I can’t seem to catch up. Maybe I have meningitis.
(Yes, I actually considered that I might have meningitis, based on my symptoms on WebMD. Some might find that paranoid.
“Maybe you’re just anemic and you need to take vitamins,” instructed my mother.)
It doesn’t help that it was terribly, unseasonably cold this week — who wants to be up early when it’s cold??? No one, that’s who.
Perhaps the bigger problem is that I’m not a morning person. I set my alarm 30 minutes early on purpose to allow myself to snooze, because I need to “transition” into actually waking up.
And then, when I finally manage to sit upright, I punch the air in front of me, whining.
My dad is a morning person, and his enthusiasm and general good mood before 9 a.m. baffles me. My mom, brother and twin sister did not inherit the early morning gene.
“I’ve already done all my errands and made breakfast and lunch!” My dad would say when we would stumble downstairs blurry-eyed on Saturdays. “The only thing up before noon around here is the damn cat!”
In the small South Carolina town where I work, the 94-year-old mayor is quite the man about town.
He’s been the mayor for 50 years now, and still runs a large lumber company in the heart of downtown.
Today, I had to take a photo of him and some other important people, in true Southern fashion, at a BBQ restaurant.
“How are you hungry at 11:30?” I asked him, as he sat down to order a basket of ribs.
“I’ve been up since 5,” he said.
“Yep, I’ve woken up at 5 a.m. every day of my life,” the mayor told me. “And, as long as I have a good breakfast with eggs, grits and bacon, I’m good for the day.”
“But, it’s still dark at 5 a.m.!” I said.
“I doesn’t matter to me!” he said. “A good businessman gets up early!”
I politely ended the conversation right then, hoping he forgot that I was almost ten minutes late to take the photo.
It's not like I hate Daylight Savings time. I actually love it. Longer happy hours! No driving home from work in the dark! It’s the first sign of summer.
It’s just the getting acclimated part that’s killing me.
I have come up with a solution to this problem: have a nationwide accepted siesta, like they do in Spain. olé!
Afternoon siestas were one of my favorite things about Spain when I studied abroad during a semester in college. Daily mandated afternoon naps?? Yes, please!
I studied in a very, very, very, very ,very small town that was heavy on tradition. During the two-hour siestas, all the shops and restaurants would close, nothing was on TV and the streets were quiet.
There was literally nothing to do but sleep, sleep, sleep. I had no problem immersing myself into that custom. I miss it everyday.
When I came back from my trip abroad, I spent the next three months sitting at a desk all day for an internship. Like clockwork, 20 minutes after I ate lunch, my head would drop to the desk, SIESTA mode in full effect.
Nothing worked. I drank diet coke, pinched myself and shook out my entire body, trying to get the tiredness to leave. But, with heavy eyelids, I still longed for my bed.
One time, in true desperation, I tried to remember if there was a closet I could lock myself in for an hour in order to sleep (I didn’t find one that was suitable).
“Oh, well, you’re probably just anemic,” my mother said. “You should take vitamins.”