If I were really smart, I'd have started trying to get used to the upcoming time change. We set the clocks ahead one hour tonight, so I should have spent the last few mornings getting myself up earlier and going to bed earlier.

That would make sense, but I'm not that smart, especially when it comes to time management. I'd say I let time manage me, instead of the other way around, except that's not quite right either. The external clock and my internal one are constantly at odds, battling over issues such as sleep, work, and how many movies TiVo will record and delete before I ever get a chance to watch them.

If I could possibly stay up all night and burn off all those movies, then sleep and sleep and sleep until I've slept off all that wakefulness, I think I'd achieve some kind of equilibrium between the forces that make me tired and cranky all the time. And now comes a day that will have only 23 hours in it, just what I don't need right now.

The clock is going to keep running, hour after hour, whether I fill those hours productively or not. If I never tired out, I'd happily choose never to sleep. It's not that I accomplish anything so great in the time I already have that I think more time would bring even greater good to humanity, just that I know no worthwhile advances are being made while I'm sacked out in the queen size under the electric blanket.

If I had more time to waste, who's to say I'd waste it?

All this would be fine if there were no such thing as Monday. The alarm will go off at seven, and my body will think it's six, and I'll go back to sleep and wake up in a panic at nine or ten. Then Monday night I'll look at the clock and see it's eleven, but it'll feel like ten and I'll stay up until two or three.

This sounds like a schedule for disaster, somewhere down the line. I'm already thinking about next weekend, and how many sleep hours I'll have to make up for by then. Don't be surprised if I start hallucinating and writing things that don't make any sense. What? Oh.