Last night, the entire United States - excluding Hawaii and Arizona - shifted their clocks back one hour to accomodate Daylight Savings Time.
I admit; I don't know much about the why or wherefore, I just generally do what I'm told when it's to do with everyone else in the nation essentially re-synchronizing their watches. Sure, it's annoying getting hungry one hour earlier, and it's disorienting to have it be daylight when I wake up again, but why fight it? It's pointless.
I discovered, though, the worst side effect of Daylight Savings. And by "worst," I mean "the one that demonstrates to me just how addicted I am to pop culture."
Tonight, as it started to get dark, I thought, "I'm hungry! I shall eat." And so I did - a weird microwave burrito which sounded very promising and turned out not to be. Not the point.
Then, when I was done, I noticed that it was suitably dark outside, and my body seemed to say, "Aha! It's time to sit on the couch and watch Dancing with the Stars!"
Except I looked at the clock and it was only 6:24. I drew two conclusions from this information:
1. Dancing with the Stars is not on for another hour and thirty-six minutes. Sigh.
2. My circadian rhythms are adjusted to give me instincts about television programming.
The latter is truly disturbing. But not disturbing enough to actually make me stop indulging in TV. So don't worry, Glee; I haven't canceled our date tomorrow night. Even if you are showing up a full hour later than anticipated.