Backward Seasonal Deflation

I stretched out on the couch and muttered to Maddie, “Can you please close the second blind? The sun is killing me softly.”

She’s very accommodating to my affliction, even though she doesn’t understand it. As I glanced at the clock and read 6:17, I groaned and tried to bury myself under the pillow.

I am most definitely the only person in my corner of the world that permanently despises this time change. This is far beyond the “I’m so tired,” slow walking peeps with circles under their eyes and giagantor coffees in tow. They last all of a week or so before bouncing back to their bright eyed and bushy tailed cheery selves.

Besides signaling the arrival of spring and stupid birds and then summer and stupid heat, the days are so much longer.

Yes, I know that I’m supposed to enjoy it because I can accomplish so much more and the sun is shining and it’s beautiful and yada, yada, yada.

And yet, that sun beaming straight into my eye socket at 6:17 p.m. tells me otherwise.

There is no slow transition at this time of year. You’re going about your day and then glance at the time and it’s 7:30 pm and bright as noon in our living room cursed with facing west. It’s 8:00 and just starting to simmer down out there.

My family and friends often tell me I am nuts.

In the minority I shall remain with my closed blinds and dreams of shorter days, colder temperatures, and blessed cloudy atmospheres.