Why I hate Daylight Savings Time

I love to sleep. Having the time and freedom to sleep in on the weekends and maybe even squeeze in a catnap are the ultimate luxury for me. Getting up for work in the dark at 6 am is my bête noire and I’ve been known to whine and wheedle with Tyler over a few extra minutes of shuteye like an expert negotiator (pleeassee…just five more minutes and I promise I’ll even walk the dog…).

Even though my cell phone serves as my weekday alarm, there are times when I forget to charge it or am simply so tired that I dismiss it and fall soundly back to sleep, so the role of household-waker-upper oftentimes falls to Tyler.

This morning, I awoke to Tyler holding my phone with its singsong alarm tone ringing, telling me it was time to get up. Fighting the urge to stay snuggled up, I sat up, fumbled for my glasses, and headed into the bathroom. I put in my contacts, brushed my teeth, and hopped in the shower. After showering, I headed back upstairs and flipped on the lights, surprised that Tyler was sound asleep (how dare he wake me up and then go back to sleep!). I pulled together my outfit du jour and shook his ankle as I passed the bed, telling him it was time for him to get up.

He squinted against the bright overhead lights, looked from me to the alarm clock on the nightstand that clearly showed it was 2 am, double checked his watch and then looked at me and said, “Bren, it’s 2 o’clock in the morning. What are you doing?”

So naturally, I took out my contacts and went back to bed for 4 more hours. Krypto’s whining woke me a few minutes before my alarm actually went off, so I even managed to squeeze in a quick dog walk (since I was already showered and all). It was still pitch dark, but there was a lovely ring around the moon.

 

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