Suffering through another daylight saving time

My Sentiments Exactly

Well, it’s upon us once again — that ridiculous date on which we are all forced, kicking and screaming, into “springing ahead.”

Yep, it’s here already, people: crummy old daylight saving time day.

AKA, the date on which we annually lose 86,400 seconds.


I’m not sure what irks me more, the fact that we have no say in the matter or that the reminders are so stinking chipper and happy.

Do I SEEM happy about losing 86,400 seconds of my life I’ll never get back?

Hey, that’s A LOT of seconds, OK? And, no, I am NOT being overdramatic, thank you very much.

Oh, all right, fine, it’s just an hour’s worth of sleep and we get it back in November when we return to standard time. But, still, any way you slice it, that’s like, a jazillion seconds I’ve lost in the past (almost) 53 years, yo.


Man, I hate this day. Maybe hate’s a little too strong a word.

But I’m telling’ you, straight up, that I dread this day.

Every. Single. Year.

Not because I don’t LOVE having “more” daylight. I mean, DUH. What am I? A vampire?

Every human craves sunshine, warmth and brightness. We aren’t reptiles, for heaven’s sake.

And, if I’m not mistaken, even snakes sun themselves, no? Of courssssssssse they do.


I totally dessssssspise snakes. The nerve of those scary, slithering sin solicitors, soaking up my sweet, sweet sunshine.

DISSSSSSSSSSSSSGUST-ING. I digresssssssssssss.

It’s just that, if I live through another (almost) 53 DST days … I’ll never understand why we can’t just stay on either standard time or DST 24/7, 365.

Pick a lane already!

Because the changing of the time in spring and winter is a MAJOR nightmare for those of us who are, um, let’s call it, sleep challenged.

Kerry likes to say that, much like a newborn trying to navigate nocturnal-ness, I’ve got my days and nights mixed up.

Hmpf. What does he know?

Just because I tend to sleep only about four hours per night. And never at the same stretch. Just depends on when I finally plop down on what my Gram used to call “the davenport.”

Quick sidebar for you young’uns who won’t know but davenport was the name of a series of sofas made by the Massachusetts furniture manufacturer A.H. Davenport and Co., circa 1900.

Although he and it are no more, the popularity of that couch brand was a precursor to what I like to call “the Kleenex effect.”

You know, that phenomenon in which a product and brand become so synonymous that they are often used interchangeably in conversation and / or reference.

Former Ohio first lady Janet Voinovich told me that herself, BT dubs. Yeah, in a former life, Kerry and I worked on a local television show called “At The Butler,” which highlighted Buckeye-born artists and pieces.

One episode centered on art at the governor’s mansion and, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but she invited me to sit on her davenport.

“Oh, so then this is a DAVENPORT davenport!” I said, in true dolt fashion.

Ever gracious, she patted my hand, smiled and said, “Yes, dear, it’s a DAVENPORT davenport.”

It might have been the only time I didn’t fall asleep therein, capisce?

Either way, I’m sure I’ll be up when we officially lose an hour o’ snooze.

Hmpf. I’m over the whole falling back / springing ahead. Isn’t the rotating and revolving enough for one sleepy species? Sheesh!

— Kimerer is a crabby columnist who thinks life’s too short to skimp on daylight, period. Contact her via www.patricia kimerer.com.


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