Anagram Musings on Switching to Daylight Saving Time

by gillis

The first day is not so bad. It’s a Sunday and therefore usually less rushed than a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday. You go around the digital gymnast hive* and dutifully reset all of the little clocks on the appliances and in the car. It’s nice to see the sun, or a hazy, light-colored sky at dinner time. You might even feel like throwing a little daisy ginghham vittle* celebration just thinking of the coming spring. Then your child’s bedtime rolls around and a chorus of “but I’m not tired yet,” leads you to have some thoughts of light vintage dismay*.  Next, it’s time for you to go to bed, only it feels quite early and you don’t need to even navigate sight dimly* yet. You don’t feel tired in that physical,  “ready to sleep” way, just exhausted in that existential, “isn’t everything just so evil, shitty, damaging,*” way. You toss and turn, trying to find sleep but it eludes you like the hazy memories of the Invalid Amethyst gig* you once went to back at the Paradise in 1989. Finally, you sleep, but fitfully so because there is always the chance that you might have that dream again, where you are tapdancing on a cruise ship and a mighty girl invades it*, interrupting your big number and capsizing the whole boat. You are left to wrestle against mighty devil *girl until the bleating of your alarm clock wakes you. Trembling, you stagger down the stairs to find your supplements. You shake one into your hand, but you’ve dropped it. You find yourself on the floor, searching for that shaggy vitamin D tile* to add to your spinach smoothie and hope it will help you make sense of this dark, new day.