How lovely for my inner clock to wake me at its accustomed weekday time and find that it's an hour later and I've managed to sleep in without even trying.
I love Daylight Savings Time. I wake up with the sunrise anyway (no getting out of that with an east-facing bedroom). That does not mean that I have enough control to leap out of bed one second earlier than I have to, light or no light.
My taxes have done their work and done it well. The powers-that-be have not only given me back my PDT, but also started it earlier this year. And they miraculously synchronized it with my Spring Break so I don't have to get up for work an hour earlier tomorrow. I'm not a big fan of Washington D.C. right about now, but at least they got one thing right this year. No make that this decade. (But that's another story.)
Days are now longer. I now have time to garden after work and walk the dog and exercise. It's truly amazing what a difference one hour can make. But I guess anyone who's waited that whole long 60-second minute for the microwave to ding knows how time can be stretched.
What do parents in the poor benighted deprived non-daylight-saving-time states do? Hey, kids don't do clocks, we all know that. They wake up when they are ready and that's usually linked to sunrise. The return of daylight savings has always meant that I can stop hating my boys for rising at some uncivilized hour. I think of daylight savings as a necessary government mandate to bring the rest of the population in line with the lives that the important part of the country (parents of young children) were already living.
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