Wednesday, November 10, 2010

On daylight saving time and seasons

You'd think that dealing with the time change year after year for my whole life would take away the novelty of the whole ordeal, but no. Each and every year, falling back an hour feels like I fall into a well. I appreciate the light in the morning, I do. I'm not a very graceful or quick riser, so the intense sunlight is the extra kick in the pants I need to get out of bed. It's the leaving work at night in the pitch black that bothers me. I have no windows in my office, so I'm already disconnected with the outside world for the large majority of nine hours a day. Not being able to witness the official closing ceremony of the day, the sunset, gives me an uneasy feeling. Not that I manage to sit and watch the event every night, but I'm usually able to register it unconsciously from having windows in front of me or slowly noticing the increase in shadows around me. There's something about not having a connection with the natural progression of the sun that always leaves a jarring feeling when I step outside of work into darkness. "A whole day, gone? How is that possible? I didn't see the sun go down." I guess it's the whole biological clock thing. I associate the passing of time with the progression of the sun and when I don't see the sun making its arc all day, I internally assume that time has slowed in some fashion and that outside looks the same as when I last left it at 8 or 9 am. Additionally, the dark is so uninviting and I tend to throw the towel in on the day. After work plans are barely even considered since it feels so late. Sigh. Give me a few more weeks and I'll begrudging accept the time change. My internal, unconscious underpinnings will make their adjustments and I'll stop bitching about the inevitable. This happens every year, self. Get with the program.

If you know me at all, one of the first things you quickly learned about me is that I absolutely hate cold weather. Give me 80+ degrees and I am in paradise. This fall has been a rather warm one in Virginia and for this, I am very grateful. (Regardless, my eczema has flared up horribly already and makes me worry about how bad this winter will be.) I just can't hack feeling cold. I feel as though I physically, mentally, and emotionally shrink. I know, at least, that my fingers do noticeably shrink, but I'm afraid the rest of it is just psychological. Deep down, I associate cold weather and snow with Pennsylvania, tapping into my reservoirs of hatred and fear, so I guess it should come as no surprise that I react the way that I do to winter.

Today, though, I feel very proud of myself and am not bothered quite so much by the chill in the air. The reason I feel a little bit better is because of my snazzy outfit. I've been paying more attention to what I wear lately because I want to look more professional at work and because I noticed that a lot of my clothes are incredibly old. I've managed to go shopping a few times over the last few months to update and replace my wardrobe a bit. So, I've been experimenting with my clothes more and today I think I'm going to count as a win. I'm wearing a very old printed dress (from 2004!) that I love, but because I hate being cold, I usually avoid wearing dresses or skirts in the winter. I came up with a solution for this: tights. Duh. How did I not think of that earlier!? Oh right, because I absolutely hated tights when I was little and I've had a deep emotional scar associated with them ever since. Well, I gave them another try and I must say, I've been missing out. On top of my dress and brown tights, I'm wearing my extra long, navy cardigan to pull it all together. I'm cozy and well dressed: the best of both worlds. Maybe I'll snap a picture later if I get a chance/remember. I must add that I drew my inspiration from the dapper ladies at What Would a Nerd Wear and Kendi Everyday. They both recently wore printed dresses with long cardigans, reminding me that I have similar pieces. Now I just need a skinny belt and boots to pull off the look. Errrr baby steps, baby steps.

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