It’s daylight saving time again. This means that for the next few months we will all be brainwashed into believing that the sun is staying out longer before setting in the west, when in fact, it’s the same time that it was a week ago, but we are forced to roll our clocks forward an hour if we want to be able to make it to the bank before it closes or catch our favorite shows on TV. As for me, the same thing happened this year that happens every year: I didn’t remember to advance my clock, so I will spend the next few months being late for work, late for various appointments, and will rack up a massive phone bill, ignorantly unaware that my night and weekend minutes won’t kick in for another sixty minutes.

Since technology is starting to become more advanced, most of our clocks now set themselves forward automatically. These devices believe that they are being helpful, but I just see it as another dangerous step toward machinery developing free will. During daylight saving time this also creates tension in my household between the new and old technologies. If I listen closely late at night when the house gets really quiet, I can almost hear the digital displays of my cable box and computer making fun of my old wristwatch as it sits on my bedside table, now incorrectly ticking away the hours. Now that I think about it, my wristwatch and the digital clock in my car, the two forms of time that I consult most often, are the only devices I own that must be set manually and therefore will cause me much grief over these next few months. It’s not that I’m too lazy to set my watch ahead, but I never seem to find the availability to do it. When I’m wearing it, then I’m at work and am usually too busy doing other things. If I’m not wearing it, then I’m at home, and thinking about more important things, like how I feel about Obama’s health care plan, or wondering why the seven o’clock news is being played at six. Oh right, I’m an hour behind the rest of the world. It’s the same thing that happened to me in high school. I was always behind on everything: my grades, hitting puberty, and all the latest fashion latest trends. By the time I finally got my first pair of parachute pants and wore them to school, everyone else had apparently gotten together for some super secret meeting the night prior and decided that they would all move onto wearing strictly plaid pants that following morning. The principal was so embarrassed for me that he asked that I go home and change, citing that my outfit had become “too distracting” for the rest of the student body.

After several weeks of strapping on my wristwatch, glancing at the time and going into a complete panic, believing that I’m late for whichever occasion called for me to put on the watch in the first place, I’ll finally cave and roll it forward. The clock in my car, however, is a different story. Every few months when daylight saving time rolls around, I completely forget how I went about setting the time previously. I’m one of those guys who are too proud to consult a driver’s manual. I’m not stupid or bad with technology, it’s just that the system in place for setting the clock is so insanely difficult that it requires either extreme patience, or a bachelor’s degree in engineering. Neither of which I currently possess.

As an American, daylight saving time is one of those things that I’m not supposed to understand. I’m just supposed to accept its existence without question, regardless of how much I disagree with it. In order to cope, I’ve come to look at daylight saving time in the same way that I look at taxes… or Tyra Banks. If I try to spark up a conversation with a friend and theorize the existence of daylight saving time, they aren’t interested and tell me to just go along with it. I wonder if the guy who came up with the idea in the first place is also the same person I talk to about getting a few extra hours added onto the day, or maybe another entire day added onto the week. In fact, I think we’re overdue for an upgrade to our calendar. For years now I’ve been petitioning for an eight-day week. We could call the new day “Sunderday” and it would fall between Saturday and Sunday. It would still be considered part of the weekend, and it would be strictly used for getting things done. Post offices, banks, and grocery stores would all be required by law to be open from nine o’clock in the morning until ten at night. The day would be reserved strictly for getting all that stuff done that you procrastinated on during the week. No one seems to know whom I can talk to about getting this fantastic idea passed into law. I know our calendar is based off of the ancient Mayan system, but I don’t foresee being able to discuss it with them since I’m pretty sure that they’re all dead.

I’m willing to bargain. If someone gives me Sunderday, then I’ll feel better about accepting the idea of daylight saving time. Until then, my clock will remain unchanged, and I’ll remain confused about why my five o’clock shadow is coming in around six o’clock. Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t grow facial hair.

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