You see, once upon a time when I was but a college student, which I would like to think was recently but is growing ever further distant, I went to England for spring break. Spring break in England, you say? I know, it's not very tropical and not very stereotypically spring break, but I've never been super crazy about the beach, and the party scene is not for me, so what better time to visit my studying abroad best friend than spring break?
I toured some of London and some of Scotland and had the time of my life little knowing that an hour of my life would soon be robbed from me. You see, apparently, and much to my surprise for some reason, the whole daylight savings time switch doesn't always happen concurrently between countries. As it so happened, when I was in the UK the time changed, and the next weekend when I'd gotten home again, we sprang forward again. Normally, you can console yourself with the loss of your springtime hour with the promise of getting said hour back again in the fall, not so with the extra hour you lost while springing ahead twice.
And can I just say how great it is to deal with jet lag and the loss of an hour? Not to mention, the pain of sitting squashed up in your middle seat between strangers on the plane ride home (where the time change has not yet occurred) not knowing what in the heck time it really is anywhere so having no way to gauge whether you'll have to play Dr. Mario on your Virgin Atlantic seat screen for only two more hours or whether it will be a whole three before your plane cruises into the gate at Newark. Not that there's anything wrong with Dr. Mario, I find Dr. Mario to be an extremely enjoyable way to fritter away hours and was delighted to discover it available on my flight. In fact, I find Dr. Mario so enjoyable and diverting that I almost feel sad for those of you who are thinking, at this moment, "What is she talking about? Is something wrong with her?" "Her" of course meaning me, but I digress.
Most people in my neck of the woods are happy and grateful for that glorious extra hour of sleep this weekend afforded, and I'll admit to some passing joy in it, too. I'm still a glass half empty kind of a girl, though, and every time we change the clocks I'm reminded of that silly hour that I misplaced between countries that I'll never get back in the fall.
Anybody else ever been a victim from this sneaky thief of time? And just exactly how obvious is it that I am just now avoiding the pile of books beside me that wants reviewing? ;-)