Since Daylight Saving Time is not considered a holiday (and it should be), I chose to celebrate it by getting myself a white chocolate mocha. (I stopped drinking coffee two weeks ago.)
I'm also holding a moment of silence -- because I lost 60 of them -- to mourn that holiest of hours, the one that gave itself so I could have more light in my day.
And to curse the guy who thought of it. I'm sure there was a reason, and I'm sure he didn't sleep much, and I'm sure he was a dork.
Technically the loss of one hour and the acquisition of more light should not make that much difference, yet today I felt like I had been on a plane that went around the globe nonstop and then dropped me off at my job. What if I were a landscaper? A pet groomer? The guy who bends paper clips for a living?
I know it doesn't sound like a holiday, what with all the drinking, mourning, and cursing, but I feel that it should be one anyway. And I wish you all a Happy Daylight Saving Time.
I'm John's Brain. Good night, and good luck.