It’s that time of year again, literally. This go around, my heart beats at the same rate regardless of the clocks back one hour in our “fall back, spring forward” dance. I’ve never truly understood this synchronic task.
The measurement of time does motivate many—trains, planes, school buses, TV programming and musical classes. How could we live in the digital age without the study of horology? My clocks all handily synchronize now. No longer am I spending an inordinate amount of time running around the house adjusting clocks to collect my once lost time.
So I saved time. Did I get paid interest from participating in this little ruse? Are the trains not going to make it across the plains? Are the planes flying faster towards their destination or away from their place of departure?
Time seems so flighty. I watch it take off and land. And I let it!
Why? Do I love it? Does my pulse flutter when I let go of that one hour? Am I supposed to revel in its return from leaving me in the spring? Does my pulse skip upon its return? Not when I wake up “early.”
Fall or spring, my internal clock is miffed with this metachronic business.
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