Spring Forward

One moment  it was 11:15 p.m. on a Saturday night, and in the next, it is 12:15 a.m. Sunday morning.  I moved my few clocks forward, so I wouldn’t forget later at bed and oversleep on the morrow

I usually go to bed at midnight, but regardless of what the clock says, my head knows it’s not really midnight yet, and so it will be an hour or so before I slip between the covers and finally douse the lights.

Strange thing, time.  There are days that pass in the time it takes for an ordinary three, and others pass in the seeming blink of an eye.

But, as we have only the clock to tell the time by, there’s no real way to prove how interminably longer one day is from the other. I’m reminded of Einstein’s train, and some days I feel as if I’m on on that train and holding on for dear life.

 

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