On the day the clocks mysteriously send time...

…one hour into the past or the future (except for the clock on the oven and the clock in the car and the clock on the old-school AM/FM radio I insist on keeping by my bed, which I have to remember to change myself, likely after I’ve already panicked about the time), I feel briefly unmoored, floating, like everything and nothing is possible, like life is a big, weird joke, like I’m living in the painful, hilarious moment after hitting my funny bone, and I wish the feeling would end, and then it does, and then I wish it didn’t.