Time Change

What? We're still farmers?

Having been raised in Arizona, I didn't experience the semi-annual ritual of springing forward or falling back in honor of Daylight Saving Time (DST) until I fled the desert for life behind the Zion Curtain in my late teens. That was an easy one - just an hour. No big whoop. Since then, everywhere we've lived, we've been in the DST party. You know what, I'm over it.

The reasons for DST are myriad but it just seems outdated to me. To quote the great Jack Donaghy, "What am I? A farmer?" It's not like I'm plowing the field and could use a few more hours in the day to get all the chores done before heading home to read from the Good Book and listen to a fireside chat on the radio. I would say that I'm firmly in the Arizona, and that weird little pocket of Indiana, camp on this one. It's totally OK to sit the time change out.

Maybe it's because as the grip middle age has on me grows ever firmer and heinously unrelenting, but the time change is liking to kill me. I am simply exhausted by it. We're nearly five days into the "spring forward" change and I feel like I've aged exponentially without that extra hour this week. Awesome. Being middle-aged rules!