I talk a lot about time — how I spend it, how hard it is to decide how to spend it, how little of it there seems to be (most of the time), how easy it is to lose track of. Twice a year, I try not to think about it at all. Whether we're setting the clocks ahead (spring forward) or backward (fall back), I have to make an effort not to let it knock me down and drag me around by the ankles for a week.
That's the plan. After this much time, and all these years, I still haven't figured out a way to do it.
Every time I looked at a clock today, I saw two different times: the time the clock said, and the time my body said. I had to make the mental adjustment, because I couldn't believe it was as early as the clock kept saying it was. It felt so much later, and it was a surprise every single time. The external time was out of phase, but marching on. My internal clock was chugging away like a wheezing old engine, trying to catch up in fits and starts.
It's a good thing I didn't have any urgent business, because I needed a day to let the storm subside long enough to patch the leaks in the hull. For once, all I wanted to do was press the pause button for as long as it took to get the picture back in focus. I never know how hard the time change is going to hit me, even when I do my best to prepare for it. Obviously, staying up half the night wasn't the answer. I'll have to try something else next time.
It's partly a matter of mindset, but it's also physical. I'm convinced of this, because even though I know I'll have problems adjusting, I still can't control the situation. I'm not used to that.
Anyway, since I didn't have anything I had to do today, I tried to set myself up for tomorrow. I'm determined not to let this asynchronous temporal displacement drag on for a week or more, as it has in past years. I want to look at the clock and see one time, starting tomorrow.