Since I left my parents' house and moved into a dorm room in New York City eight years ago, it has been my mother's job to call me during those two special times each year when most states change the clocks (note: I believe only parts of Indiana observe, although that may have changed, as it is not noted in the WikiAnswer- and everyone know WikiAnswers know everything) to remind me that it's that very special time of year.
I don't know who my mother thinks she is, but this past year she has been really off her game. I guess she thinks that since I am 26 years old now I should be able to handle it. Maybe it's because I have a Fella and a dog, to whom I refer to as "my family." Or maybe it's because I have a college degree, almost two, and I am in charge of 150 students each week. I am (supposedly) a role model and a mentor. I speak another language (sorta). I cook (again, sorta). People who are younger than I and who don't understand how messed up you can really be at 26 think I'm an adult. I LIKE grocery shopping.
I don't know which reason it is, or if it's another reason entirely, but today marks the second time in my life when I have awoken totally confused about what freaking time it was.
My alarm clock didn't change, but my computer did. My cell phone didn't, but the voicemail feature did. The microwave looks the same, but something happened to the clock on the DVR. The confusion doesn't come because the times are different, that part's easy- just change all the clocks in the house to match the later time. Yeah, I know, thanks.
The confusion comes in the days following, when I still haven't changed all of the clocks in the house. Of course, one could argue that I could save myself the confusion by not writing a blog post and instead changing the clocks, but would would the fun be in that?
Either way, I haven't been awake at 11pm (I hope it's not 12) in a very long time. I made the mistake of going to Starbucks at 530 (maybe it was 630?) and having a Venti coffee while getting some work done. At 930 (I think it was 930, really) Mr. Peaches and I ate dinner together (and by together I mean in separate rooms, at separate times, completing separate activities- you know, together). I'm way awake.
It's my mom's fault. At least, that's what I'm sticking to.
And now, an open letter to my mother:
Dear Mom,
I don't know when the next time is that our society has collectively decided for me that I need to adjust my schedule, but get back on your game, Woman!
Love,
Ms. Peaches
(PS Don't google image search "mom" and expect to find a picture of a cute old lady with an apron.)
1 comment:
Well so much for trying to make sure you have grown up into an ....... ADULT. what was i thinking, sitting on the couch for 2 days, using 3 boxes of kleenex' s , ingesting dayquil and nyquil and claritin and all the fluids possible. trying to just BREATH!! how dare I drop the ball..... well daughter~~~ its not too late to change your clocks... and i am sure tat Mr. Peaches soon to be has already done it~~~
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