Every spring the government rips an hour from us all. We wake up bleary-eyed to an alarm clock going off extra early and stagger into work thankful that we’re not one of the increased car accidents or increased heart attacks from the change. We spend the next week recuperating from the unexpected theft of a precious hour.
Then, thank goodness, every autumn the government reluctantly gives us the hour back. We get an extra luxurious hour in bed the following Sunday. Waltz into work an hour late on Monday and discover that we made it in on time. Sure, we have to eat lunch an hour later than we’re used to and go home an hour later than we’re used to… but that extra hour in the mornings?
It’s almost as sweet as not having to experience jet lag at all.
But *THIS* weekend is the weekend that we get our hour back. And we can sleep in. Get that extra blanket out of the closet. Put it on the foot of the bed. Be extra warm and toasty this Saturday night because we get back to the good part of the year.
And, as such, this weekend will be spent luxuriating. I had a talk with Maribou about expectations for Saturday and we hammered out that we had to do some banking and we had to go out to breakfast to the place that has the best huevos rancheros in town and then, after that, not leaving the house. Sure, there are chores we’ll have to do but the errands can wait until Sunday and laundry is one of those things that can be done while in the basement between episodes of the show we’re watching or when the game I’m playing is paused.
This weekend is devoted to *NOTHING*. And then? Getting an extra hour for it.
So… what’s on your docket?
(Photo is DSC04021-02 by Suzy Hazelwood. Used under a Creative Commons License.)