scribblechic

I keep looking for my lost hour with the frustrated determination of one hovered over a square of carpeting, hands buried in loose threads of pile, feeling blindly for a missing earring.  Something as simple as advancing my clock has left me feeling momentarily stranded in time; tired and disoriented.  In another couple of days it will be as if nothing happened.  Today I am groggily stumbling through my old routine with the grouchy belligerence of someone demanding a refund for a free meal.  The irony rests patiently in the future.  Come Fall I will step on the lost earring and howl in pain over the extra time, too tired to collect the free hour.