Oh no! I had no idea either! And though I like DST later in the year, and I LOVE SPRING and am soooo ready for it, it's just now getting to the point where it's light at a reasonable time in the morning here! Now it's going to be dark an hour later. On the bright side, for me anyway, is that I start work at 5 a.m. and it's dark then anyway, and would be until later on in the season even if we didn't start DST.

I've invested in a few atomic clocks so some of the clock changing is no more. Personally I'd prefer to go on 12 month DST. I like having the adjustment in the winter and wouldn't have much impact in the summertime. But then I suppose employers would adjust work hours! I'm sure I'll be up at 2 am Saturday night/Sunday morning. Send a note if you like! I used to work graveyard too for a while and I remember the one time the maintenance guy came in to adjust the timeclock and he then adjusted our timecards. Wound up giving an extra hour rather than subtracting the hour. Took me a few days to figure out what he had done since my time report didn't match up. His wife was a disgruntled former manager and wouldn't admit he could make a mistake, so I didn't keep fighting it, I took the extra hour pay and decided to see when payroll figures things out.

I missed the time change last fall (or was it last spring?) I had started going "electronics free" on Sundays and Wednesdays. No Internet, no iPod, no television. Those are my two unplugged days. I will check my email, just in case anyone sent me a "real" email with family/friends news; I'll talk on the phone, read a book, or watch a DVD. But mostly I just stay away from anything with a computer function for those two days a week. I totally forgot about the time change that year and was so confused on Monday. I thought the computer was going bad. I remember it this year and got everything moved up an hour before I went to bed Saturday night. I have a desk clock that needs a new battery, and I've not been out to the car yet, but everything else is all good. - Bedroom alarm clock - Bathroom night light clock - Sewing room wall clock - Desk clock, waiting for a battery - Kitchen wall clock - Kitchen microwave(s) - Don't ask. - Kitchen stove - Kitchen timer - House phone; it didn't change itself? - Coffee maker - Three wrist watches - Vintage watch face that's still waiting for me to find the perfect strap for. Our two cell phone, two iPods, two atomic weather stations, and the computer set themselves. I have way too many clocks. I wish the oven, microwaves, coffee pot, and house phone did not have clocks. I'm one of those people that are driven mad if the clocks don't all show the correct time, at the same time.

cynic, you make me think Chuck Lorre's vanity card at the end of Big Bang last night: CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #577 There is an almost perpetual gap between my expectations as to how things should be and the way things actually are. This space, or divide, causes me a considerable amount of discomfort, which I try to alleviate through the use of repetitive thoughts, as well as spoken and written words. This activity is called "complaining." The fact that it rarely accomplishes anything, other than exacerbate my irritation, does not keep me from engaging in it. Furthermore, it appears that buried deep within my psyche is the firmly held conviction that complaining is therapeutic - even though experience shows again and again that it's not. In other words, I have a false belief that appears to be immutable, which drives me to take an action that only makes matters worse... and I like it. My only consolation is the knowledge that I come from a long line of complainers. One of my fondest childhood memories is looking up at the adult relatives gathered around the kitchen table, the men smoking Pall Malls, the women smoking Newports, everyone eating smoked fish, and all of them talking over each other, loudly bitching and moaning about pretty much everything. I remember that a rant would often end with the resigned, self-deprecating, seemingly rhetorical question, "Oh, well, who am I to complain?" Well, these many years later, it turns out it's not rhetorical. And I now know the answer. This is my birthright. Who am I if I don't complain?