Daylight Saving Time ends tonight. I always feel strange this time of year: I dread the impending winter with the cold and snow and the darkness that comes ever earlier, but I LOVE warm sweaters and woobie socks and the holidays.
And the extra hour of sleep I get tomorrow morning.
Today – or, rather, tonight – is one of my favorite days. It seems silly and insignificant, but I really dig the extra hour of sleep. For the first few weeks, until I start getting used to the shift, everything seems easier. I have more energy, I feel less rushed. My logical side (and yes, wise-guys, I have a logical side; I just choose to not use it too often. Don’t want to wear it out, you know) tells me that it’s only an hour. What possible difference can an hour one way or the other make?
My body tells my logical side to shove it – it makes a hell of a lot of difference. Talk to me in the spring when I’m always late for everything and dead tired for the first week or so of DST. I pry myself awake at what, yesterday, was FIVE-FREAKING-THIRTY IN THE MORNING. That’s just not right, and I resent it for longer than I should, despite the freshening weather and the extended play time in the evenings.
Falling back is, by far, my preferred direction.