Like multitudes of people here and abroad, I absolutely loathe the time change that occurs every fall—switching back to Standard Time, which feels like it ought to be referred to as the Dark Ages. That’s just stupid. I was finally getting accustomed to Daylight Saving Time, which I love for the most part because it’s still twilight at nine p.m. in July. Unfortunately, kids are also traipsing to the bus stop at dark-thirty every morning in March, risking life and limb, which is equally stupid.
I’d surmise that I’m not alone in the displeasure I routinely express when it comes to changing what time is displayed on all the clocks throughout the house, especially the ones in our cars, which are ridiculously complex, and the ones that hang on a wall. In fact, this year I broke one of the cussed clocks in the process of switching the time—which is probably a bad omen.
At any rate, it’s no wonder some people have great difficulty functioning when the days grow shorter in the fall and winter months. But it’s exponentially worse, in my opinion, when we change the clocks around November, effectively making it DARK at 5:00p.m. Every year when we make the switch, I swear “I’m going to go FERAL,” as my kids often hilariously announce. I can’t stand to look out the window and see the gathering darkness shortly after I’ve finished my lunch. A few hours later, I scream into the void, “For the love of God, the sun is going down and it’s not even four o’clock yet!” For the record, as I type this, today’s sunset will be at 5:00 sharp and I couldn’t be more disappointed in the universe.
I realize this practice has been in place since the early 1900s, but come on already. We’re sick of it. At least I am. It feels like it’s midnight just after I’ve left the dinner table. I stand at the windows and stare out into the inky blackness, wondering what happened to the sun. And if I’m driving, I’m more than a little disturbed to see headlights IN THE AFTERNOON. What’s more, it’s beyond confusing for pets. Dinnertime is all messed up, which necessitates a liberal amount of whining and begging for food an hour before the appointed time. I’m confused, too, watching people in the street walk their dogs, but all I can reliably see is a flashlight wobbling in the darkness or maybe a blinking collar. Here’s hoping the dogs can see well enough to poo in the right place. Watch your step, people.
All that aside, thankfully, I own a therapeutic lamp that emits artificial sunlight for as long as my mental health demands it. It’s a compact, adjustable beacon of light that delivers 10,000 lux and a healthy dose of hope that the spring equinox will eventually arrive. And despite my lack of a medical degree and a wealth of experience in the field, I’ve diagnosed myself with Seasonal Affective Disorder, more affectionately known as SAD, which is an especially apt acronym because the lack of sunlight makes me sad. That said, I need the sun to function normally. I’m basically a houseplant, only less photosynthesis is involved. Apparently, a lot of my friends and family have struggled with the disorder as well and many of them have a similar type of lamp to help them get through days that are gray and dreary.
Of course, I first have to motivate myself to haul the lamp from the depths of our hutch where it’s housed for more than half the year, wedged in-between a boatload of holiday décor and way too many candles. Naturally, everything usually comes crashing to the floor when I attempt this delicate operation since the items in question were jammed in there so that everything could fit, without much thought to retrieval. But it’s worth it in the end. I plug the lamp in and instantly bask in the glow of 10,000 suns—or thereabouts. Now I can read, pay bills and even write this column with a smile as long as I have my invaluable companion by my side—no matter what the clock says.
Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably behaving like a plant, soaking up sunlight, artificial or otherwise). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.
Copyright 2026 Melinda L. Wentzel
