Time Change Trickiness

Photo from the Boston Globe

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.

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Meeting the Neighbors

Morning dog walks are usually the time that I use to wake up.  I stumble out of bed, throw on something semi-decent, and let Peanut drag me out the door for a quick jaunt around the neighborhood. I eventually find myself awake and ready to face the day.  It’s a happy routine.

The “something semi-decent” part is what gets me into trouble though.  This morning was par for the course.  I was wearing a polka dot tank top, an especially bad ponytail, my best sleepy face, and the ultimate pair of shorts.  They’re actually my brother’s soccer shorts from when he was in seventh or eighth grade.  I was in fourth or fifth grade then.  They’re one good-looking pair of shorts.

So naturally, I met a new neighbor this morning.  He was walking his small dog, ready for work with his badge on and everything.  I was on the home stretch of the walk and thinking mostly about the cereal that would be in front of me in moments.

I was planning to ignore him.  Not very neighborly, I know, but I don’t know him, and my teeth weren’t even brushed.

Fluffy Poo came up to Peanut, and there wasn’t anything to do but say hi.  To which he responded, “I hear that you’re Hannah.”

What?

From whom did you gather this information?  I don’t know you.  I don’t know your wife or twelve children.  This is the first time that Fluffy Poo and Peanut have met, so they didn’t share juicy details about their owners.  Even then, does Peanut know my name?

I smiled and said a few friendly things to Jim, then made a beeline for my cereal bowl.  And the take-away message from the morning is that my neighbors probably describe me to new neighbors as “the one who sleepwalks in pajamas all the time.”  It would be accurate and would also put me dangerously close to the cat lady category.

Time to take 2 extra minutes in the morning, I think.

Early Morning Priorities

My new morning tool to get out the door in time is to ask myself,  “Is _____ really worth being late for work?”  It helps me prioritize so that I can avoid the 30-seconds-late syndrome that I sometimes run into.  For example, is eating breakfast really worth that 5 minutes?  Yes!  Is brushing my teeth worth that minute or two?  Yes.  Is putting on makeup worth three or four minutes?  Probably not.  Same goes for fixing my hair.  I could wake up earlier, but I’ve decided that I value sleep more than having a good hair day.  I can at least pretend that I’m choosing the “low-key” look on purpose.

Morning tool in use or not, I end up with my hair in a ponytail almost every single day.  The real selling point of the ponytail is that you don’t have to think about it.  It might not be glamorous, but you know it won’t look any worse when you get home than it did when you looked in the mirror at 7:58 AM.

Then there’s the rare occasion when I do wake up in time to dry my hair and wear it down.  I get to work and suddenly feel like the biggest ditz in the world.  Sure, I look nice, but it’s impossible not to play with the curls.  They’re just sitting there waiting to be twirled.  (Man, writing that sentence makes me so glad I usually go with the ponytail!  There’s no professional way to describe playing with your hair.)

What does all of this talk about nothing boil down to?  I often feel like a bad grown-up for choosing extra sleep over preparing for my day at work.  You’re supposed to look your best in the workplace, especially when you work with the public all day.  I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.  I’m neat and tidy at work.  I smell good, and my clothes are ironed.

So with those things in mind, I hereby stand by my choice of ponytail over waking up earlier.  The benefits of extra sleep, being on time, and not looking like a vapid idiot should counteract any negative points I get for coming to work with wet hair.  I’ll just have to find another way to feel like a full-fledged grown-up.