The extra hour gained from Daylight Savings Time isn’t worth the searing pain my retinas experience when they are blinded by the 60 watts of light reflecting off the white tile, white marble countertop, white walls, and mirror of my bathroom. I squint, trying to shake off sleep, while I try to determine if I need to shave, or if I can push the 1-day-facial-growth policy at work to three days.

I decide to take my chances, and hop in the shower for a quick lather before getting dressed and hurrying out the door into the wind, and rain, and dark of night to make the trek from my parents’ house to work.

It’s not often I get to experience rising for work an extra hour earlier, but my stop at my parents’ house in Baltimore yesterday to pick up a printer, left me unable to return home after a filling dinner with the family.

So I crank the heater, and make my way down I-95, which I pretty much have to myself, trying to make it to work before 7 am. I left at 5:30, and I’m making pretty good time despite the few drivers determined to slow me down.

I feel a piece of steak between two teeth that somehow, my toothbrush and a strand of floss missed and I try to ignore it. Unable to do so, my tongue involuntarily plays with it for ten minutes before realizing the futility of the operation and seeking sense elsewhere.

After the third tractor-trailer tries to run me off the road, I’m starting to sense a conspiracy. Is it paranoia, or rather a network of truckers collaborating in my death by CB radio.

“Breaker, breaker, this is Blue Bandit. Should anyone see a Black Blazer traveling at high velocity down I-95 with Delaware license plate blah-blah-niner-alpha-tango, please kill him. Over and out.”

So I’m speeding towards Delaware, like a vampire racing the sun, braving the wind, and rain, and dark of night, my only human companion, Nora Jones playing on the radio, and she’s putting me to sleep with her light, funky melodies, so I put on AC/DC.

The piece of steak is still between my teeth and it’s annoying the hell out of me.

I make it to the $4 toll at Perryville to be greeted by a silent senior toll collector, grumpy to be up at this ungodly hour and pissed that he has to make change for my $5 bill. I smile when he tries to hand over four quarters and his hand slips, spilling the loose change all over the freeway, and he, angered that he will have to exit the booth and brave the wind, and rain, and dark of night to account for four quarters, grudgingly hands over a single dollar bill.

And I’m off again, finally pulling into Delaware, the sky, still dark, has transformed from black to dark, dark blue, and I’m beginning to be concerned that I’m not seeing any police in their usual speed traps. Surely, they are out there somewhere, and I keep a vigilant eye on the shoulder until I pull off I-95 in Newark (Delaware, not New Jersey) and onto Route 40, past People’s Plaza, where its neon letters have burnt out to ironically spell out “Pee Plaza”.

I finally race into the parking lot, and brave the wind, and rain, and dark of night and briskly walk (no running! Safety first!) through the main gate of the chemical plant, and into the Engineering building where I open my desk drawer and pull out a roll of cinnamon flavored dental floss, finally extricating the tiny piece of meat that has been the bane of my existence for the better part of the last hour.

I sigh heavily, pour myself a glass of water, (the sun is finally above the horizon!) and return to my office, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed, ready to start my day of adventure.

READ THESE JOURNALS Uncle Bob SaraH

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