I’m sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, because it’s still cold in the Windy City during this second week of March. I’m wrapped up for the duration of my lunch hour. I am resisting the urge to curl up in the suggestion of sun near the balcony door. That would be very cat like.
Daylight Saving Time begins this weekend in the United States. Florida is trying to pass legislation for the “Sunshine Protection Act”, which would exempt the state from participating in this outdated, asinine, geared-for-the-lowest-common-denominator practice of swinging around the clocks so that we are blessed with “extra daylight”. There is no extra daylight, and unless something jimmies the planet out of its current orbit or somehow modifies the way things have worked for literally billions of years, there will be no extra sunlight when you awake on Sunday morning wondering if you should eat breakfast or lunch. Me? I’ll probably just drink.
If you want extra sunlight get up earlier and stop selfishly demanding that everyone around you modify their clocks so you can go for a walk after work. We all know you’re not going to do that. Americans don’t do that. They sit at home, lap up the crap spewed from the idiot box and surf the internet. There’s no “enjoying extra sunlight” and if anyone claims that DST is the savior of all of society’s ails by artificially moving around an artificial measurement of the passage of time, they need to be promptly slapped across the face with an open hand. Do it twice.
I’m going to go back to being burrowed under my blanket.
