Thirty-three wall clocks, that’s how many I’ve got at last count. I don’t have any particular obsession with time, I don’t think, but I do have a powerful love of clocks. Generally speaking, they please me inordinately, but twice a year, not so much. Tonight is one of those two times, the end of daylight savings time.

Most of them I can change myself–which is a good thing, as Olof is not particularly helpful in this particular matter, feeling I’ve got only myself to blame for the extra work–but a few I need help to reach. What this often leads to, unfortunately, is a clock or two that remains on the old time for a bit longer than it ought. It’s not really a problem, timekeeping-wise, but it does bug the hell out of me. This year, though, I think that my nagging did the trick and they’re all successfully changed. The projector clock in our bedroom isn’t re-hanged, but I’m still at least a few steps ahead of where I usually am.