The time was wrong. It was all wrong. There were lights where there should not have been lights. There were darks that showed up late. The dusks just sat there, sulking from the lack of attention that they felt entitled to have.
One of the dusks said to me: “It is not good that we are ignored. We are the transition from your day to your evening and we have a specific benefit and purpose.”
A light blurted out that he was in the wrong place and at the wrong time. She felt put upon to do work that no one appreciated and that everyone was complaining about. “The children!” it yelled, “They need to use their imaginations as they play and they cannot play without me!”
I was just in a hollow way. Nothing felt real or whole. The regular of morning was gone, replaced with a funky kind of day that was already there. It came with no announcement and with no ring of the emotional, circadian or mental doorbell that the formerly slow and languid dawn once provided.
Daylight savings time is a moveable feast of a burden, placed upon me as yet another annual challenge that I meet by falling forward and by springing back when something different is required. I never remember which it is that I am supposed to do.
One can fall or spring in either direction, you know.
It was the reminder that someone else than me determines the very structure of my day.
And that was off-putting.
So, I did not participate in Daylight Savings Time, this Spring of 2010. After all, we only have 2 more years according to the Mayan Calendar, and it is time to think of more serious things.