Don't call my house Sunday. Don't stop by, don't expect any decent interaction. I'm not going to shake anyone's hand peacefully during mass.
I. Hate. Daylight Savings. I hate it the way only someone who has to get up at 5:30 am can hate Daylight Savings. And for the few days it takes for my body to adjust to going to bed sooner and getting up later, I am in an angry, stomping, slamming, biting sarcasm type of mood.
More than usual, I mean.
I can easily see that Air Force Family's coffee bill will be doing its annual skyrocket trip. Thank God for our Flavia machine.
Daylight Savings Time should be a curse word. One of the really, really, really bad ones.