Off fish hill Daylight saving time 2025

Off fish hill Daylight saving time 2025 min(no) newt effect on me. As part and parcel of terpsichorean repertoire, one whirling dervish flaps his wings at the speed of sound. With twenty three hours Sunday March 9th, 2025 essentially 2:00:00 to 2:59:59 does not exist in the night of the switch (back to the house of Pooh Corner) not only in Pennsylvania (but as well as across the United States) will begin at 2:00 AM, (thus dear reader ye moost stay awake two hours into) Sunday, March ninth originally implemented over one hundred years ago, in 1918 during World War I to help conserve fuel and power and extend the workday where countless nations did lyft the bulk of production after supporting a wartime economy. Working during the sunlight hours meant burning less fuel, and the ability to work later into the day and moost likely will impact min-née-ute effect on me a run of the mill on the Floss amazingly gracefully aging long haired pencil necked geek, who welcomes increased photons while sunbathing within his alcove just outside the bedroom window. Just moments ago, I dusk hoovered a dawning realization which arose within the noggin of this sol son begat from when ma late mother most fecund but twenty years ago May 5th, 2025 hook hot whisked away courtesy grim reaper, and then, (when following portion of poem written) nonagenarian widower father of mine, who sat bolt upright in bed uttering apostrophic comment before succombing to catastrophic congestive heart failure, when this sole son visited him on his deathbed boot merely the painful revelation never to talk to the man who, how he learned me fist bumping suddenly recalled for no particular rhyme nor reason when dee clocks hour hand moved ahead remembered by dat dog gone refrain spring ahead, and fall back, this unemployed chap doth down play eclat courtesy Father Time experiencing malignant coup d'etat, attests that his quotidian schedule of being a faux lounge lizard minimally affected while being holed up here in Highland Manor named flat barely roomy enough for thyself, the Missus, and buzzfeed ding fruit flies each fuzz beating insect approximately the size of a gnat a minor nuisance, though tolerable within this appealing habitat, where minor inconvenient truth experienced while earthling in the balance between living social versus being homeless by this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania resident cuz as a recipient of social security disability, (which Trump's wrecking ball may obliterate) social anxiety – and more accurately schizoid personality disorder psychological qualifier that didst get linkedin with receiving unearned income int to pay rent, which fixed (unearned) income budgeted and predominantly allocated to costs of living money basic necessities spent, hence no need to arise bright tailed and bushy eyed, a freedom akin to festive folks camped out in a tent, which exemption immunizes this doodle ling middle aged muddle brained chap subjecting unsuspecting readers to his inane raving and ranting affiliated with early morning drivers, who angrily, frenetically, and splenetically rant and vent thus, the tendency, piquancy, and lunacy to twitter for the Yardbirds, and keep company with night owls, who went a hooting for all the world wide web to hear, whence straw dawgs Bach, the exact number of hours, yer oblivious to the tight rigorous mortised schedule manned by Mister Clock, essentially foisting on bread winners, an abstract artificial construct spurring madcap commuters to scurry in the rat race, lest tardiness could cost more than ham iz zone whole paycheck (to ap pier with permanent dock hue ment aye shun), an unwonted blot add hock king worry about getting canned - laughter i.e. on permanent furlough, perhaps forced into a life of crime, yet if caught... courtesy strapping jock drags me, a wimpy wordsmith wasting away in a jail cell, a veritable teenage wasteland surprised to hear the knock of the princess warden as she turns tumblers within the lock, mein future fate in her fingers if let free and clear, to hire myself as a robot, with artificial intelligence greater than any mortal man or woman; one redeeming factor, would offer opportunity to mock management, and more pertinently mandate to rock and roll to the incessant muted, yet devastatingly loud tick tock.