I woke up on March 10th completely disoriented and confused. The sun was peeking through the windows at a much higher angle than usual and I literally had no idea what time it was. I stumbled out into the kitchen to find that I had slept in until two in the afternoon. My family was gone and I noticed a note pinned to the refrigerator. It was from my wife and said, “thanks for sleeping in today and helping me with the kids. I took the kids to my parents so I could let your lazy ass sleep!” I felt horrible and quickly tried to make myself productive. I took a shower, got dressed and began doing household chores. While taking out the trash I realized that I was late for a player draft for my son’s baseball league. I jumped in the car and sped into town.
I arrived at the meeting too late and discovered that my team had been selected without me. I scanned the roster to find that I had been given the most unathletic kids in the school district. I had Christopher, who had a horrible case of irritable bowl syndrome. I had Jason, who spent most of the previous season with his hands down his pants. Oh, and I had a kid named Brian, who was a “selective mute.” I was going to have my work cut out for me. On top of that, they had selected me to run opening day festivities, which meant that I had to organize the parade and the community cookout. It was a ton of responsibility and meant that I was probably going to have an extreme panic attack at some point in the future. They gave me my coach’s jersey which was two sizes too small and exposed my belly button. I threw the roster and jersey in the backseat of my car and drove home.
When I got home I realized I had forgotten to turn in my final essay for the online course I was taking. I grabbed the computer and franticly began typing my paper. Like usual, I bullshitted my way through the pages, typing like a crazed maniac. I submitted the paper two hours late and immediately received a automated response that read, “sorry, your paper was turned in past the deadline.” I began to panic and popped an Ativan to calm myself down. I emailed my professor and prayed that she would allow me to turn it in past the deadline. If I didn’t pass the course then I wouldn’t be able to renew my teacher’s license, and would essentially lose my job as an educator. I needed a distraction so I texted my wife and asked her when she was coming home with the kids. She sent me the middle finger emoji and told me that they were going to spend the night with her parents. She also told me to make four dozen sugar cookies for my daughter’s St. Patrick’s Day party. I was told to make them in the shape of a leprechaun and to have them boxed and ready by tomorrow morning.
By this point, the Ativan had kicked in and I began getting really sleepy. I crawled into bed and accidentally fell asleep. Three hours later I woke up and didn’t even know what day it was. In fact, I thought it was morning and ate breakfast. While eating my forth bowl of Captain Crunch, I looked out the living room window to see my neighbor taking his trash barrel to the road. I was confused and finally realized that it was actually eight o’clock at night. I dumped out my cereal and made myself tacos for dinner and watched all the fight scenes from the film John Wick. Around nine-thirty I decided to check my email. My professor had emailed me back and informed me that I had missed the deadline and would fail the course. I started to panic again and started to eat my emotions, devouring four more soft tacos in the process. I took half of an Ativan and practiced my breathing exercises to calm my nerves. That’s when I remembered I still needed to make leprechaun cookies.
I arrived at the grocery a little after ten o’clock. Of course, it was closed so I drove home and tried to make cookies with whatever ingredients I had in the kitchen. I only had flour, vanilla, eggs and butter. I was out of sugar, food coloring and baking soda. I figured I could at least make some sort of cookie, even if it wasn’t perfect. I mixed the ingredients together and tried my best to make a leprechaun. I watered down ketchup and used that for the hair color and made golden belt buckles out of Dijon mustard. I placed four sheets of cookies in the oven and ate an entire tub of hummus. After about ten minutes I took the cookies out and knew I was in trouble. Without baking soda, the cookies had flattened out like pancakes. Instead of leprechauns, they looked like forty-eight Fat Bastards from Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. I was out of options and had no choice but to package them up the way they were. I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and went to bed.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten to change the batteries in my carbon monoxide machines and had also forgotten to turn off the oven. So, I inhaled quite a bit of gas that night and must have slept walked around my house. At some point in the middle of the night I put on my undersized coaches jersey and my wife’s thong. I also painted a mural of Ralph Nadar on my living room wall, built a pillow fort and cleaned shaved my cat. I woke up in an ambulance, still wearing the jersey and thong and holding a Gillette razor. I peered down to find a stack of divorce papers on my chest. Daylight Savings Time had ruined my life. (Note: later that afternoon, forty-seven fourth graders and one pissed off teacher celebrated St. Patrick’s Day by eating Fat Bastard cookies)