Tonight, I think I got a glimpse of what I’d be like when I’m older.

If one of my kids wakes up in the strange hours of the night and can’t get back to sleep, he’ll find me in the living room reading day-old newspapers. Or sometimes I’ll be washing the dishes without a shirt on, bowls and plates clinking as I ponder how on earth a seven year old can use fourteen dishes for three meals a day. Most often, however, they’ll find me plopped behind a computer, typing away at something so pointless and awkward and useless that it could only be the most important work that I’ve ever worked on.

And I’ll be sipping away at some cider, most likely Martinelli’s, most likely straight from the bottle since I’ve just washed a googleplex of cartoon-emblazoned mugs. Meh, maybe I’ll have progressed to beer or brandy by then, but I doubt it.

Anyway, the true meaning that I’ve derived from this vision is this: I need to start getting to bed a hell of a lot earlier.

But hey. Daylight Savings Time. Somewhere between 1:59 AM and 1:01 AM this morning, my future was postponed another hour.