If I were Donald Trump and my life were an episode of The Apprentice, my alarm clock would be so fired.  It all started on Sunday–Time Change Sunday.

I thought I was smarter than my $3 alarm clock.  How could a cheap clock like that know automatically when to change for Daylight Savings?  I figured it couldn’t, so I changed it before I went to bed on Saturday night like a good little girl.

Then I got a phone call from the friend I usually take to church, gently asking if I was in town this weekend.  Fortunately, she knows me and my history of time change woes, so she called in plenty of time for me to throw on real clothes and drive her to church, after which I went home and actually got ready to face the day (and the late service).

I thought that was the end of the saga.  Oh, ha ha.  Hannah’s alarm clock beat her again.  So funny.

Then I woke up when my clock said 5:53 this morning.  That’s not normal.  And I was kind of happy about the whole morning thing, which really doesn’t happen.  But true to form, I rolled over to get the most out of my last 22 minutes of sleep.  When my clock said 6:08, I thought something must be up.  This wasn’t right.  I couldn’t possibly wake up of my own accord twice before my alarm went off.  Turns out that my clock changed itself back AGAIN in the middle of the night.

That is so wrong.  So instead of a nice, leisurely morning that I thought I was in for, I spent the next 14 minutes scrambling to walk Peanut, shower, gather food for the day, and throw on some clothes that resemble a work outfit.  It wasn’t leisurely.

My alarm clock is definitely fired in Apprenticeland.  Since I’m not Donald Trump, and I don’t have a television show on which to fire people and/or inanimate objects, I’m not sure what to do.  It was a good alarm clock until Sunday morning.  It hadn’t gone haywire a single time since I got it a month or so ago, and it provides this nice glow that gets me from my light switch to my bed without tripping over my dog on the way.  Sigh.