Forward Too Fast

I see daylight savings peeking at me at me from the end of this week. I’m not ready.

I haven’t had my fill of long, dark nights or burrowing under fleece blankets on the couch in the evening. I don’t feel finished shivering as I make my way down the cold deck steps to roll back the hot tub lid and lower myself into the whirling, steamy water. I want a slumbering garden a good month away from needing tending.

Alas, I am at the mercy of the march of time, not the other way around. I wondered the other day how many years behind we would be if I had the power to stop time whenever I wanted. How many times would I have hit the pause button to linger endlessly on the beach? How many hours would I have stolen to grade papers and still have a whole weekend ahead of me? Sneaking in another hour of sleep before the baby wakes up would’ve been a regular habit. I think we’d be at least a good 10 years behind.