If you’re reading this in print, it means daylight saving time is officially over for the year. Except in Hawaii and weirdo Arizona, which never change their clocks — unless you’re in the Navajo Nation. Gee, that’s not confusing at all.

So, in case you forgot to set your clock back, do it now. Then walk around your house and reset the other 122 clocks on your stove, microwave, coffee pot, bedside table and every conceivable surface. You’re welcome.

As everyone knows, this change isn’t as miserable as it could be because you get an extra hour of sleep in the morning. At least I think so, right? My brain only works periodically nowadays, so I have to double check many things that used to come automatically. Like, am I wearing pants right now? Oh, good. I am.

Daylight saving time is a topic on which no one is neutral. Everyone has an opinion, and some of them are stupid. Like, if you don’t agree with me.

I just want more hours of daylight, period. Now, we have to trade daylight in the evening for light in the morning, and that’s just wrong. I did like this plan when my kids were little, because it was easier to get them into bed when it was dark at night, and easier to get them up when it was light.

Personally, I find it cruel and unusual punishment to wake up in the dark. It always feels like 4 a.m. and you contemplate the delicious prospect of falling back asleep — until you make the mistake of glancing at the glowing dial of your clock and it’s already 7:30.

Time to get up and stagger like a zombie with unfocused eyes toward the coffee pot. This is the most important device in my house — the only one that causes me to have an immediate panic attack if it dies or, god forbid, the carafe gets broken.

I’m basically a lazy person. I only got my broken dishwasher repaired because I was tired of seeing piles of dirty dishes no one was washing in the sink.

The icemaker and water dispenser on my refrigerator have been broken for a month, and I’ve been using old fashioned ice trays because I can’t face yet another repairman taking my appliances apart and asking me questions I can’t answer.

“Lady, did you notice the repeating dissonant whirlygig malfunctioning back in April? That could be causing this outage now.”

Huh? I have enough trouble trying to find the model number for the repair company when I make the appointment.

When the guy came to fix the dishwasher, I asked him if he could also fix my fridge, which had just gone on the blink. I told him I’d just pay him cash on the side. He agreed, and told me to turn off the electrical panel, keep it off for three minutes and then turn it back on.

Amazingly, this seemed to fix the problem with the ice and water dispenser. He charged me $50.

Unfortunately, it only worked until after he drove off, then it stopped working again.

So I got a different company, and a repairman came out promptly, disassembled most of my dishwasher and had the parts lying in a decorative pattern all over the kitchen floor. He seemed a bit mystified as to why it wouldn’t work, and called someone for advice several thousand times.

Finally, hours later, he announced it was fixed. Except that I pointed out to him that he’d put one of the parts back on upside down. He made a face like he smelled sewer gas, looked for a moment like he was going to argue with me, but instead just grudgingly took the dishwasher apart again and, this time, put it back together correctly.

Whew. It has worked ever since. But after that, I haven’t really been able to bring myself to get another repairman out here to deal with the refrigerator. It seems easier just to fill up ice trays.

I would like to tell you how I started out talking about daylight saving time and ended up nattering on about appliances, but that would be assuming that I actually know. And, of course, I do not.

Oh yeah. Because I was talking about getting up in the dark and the physical pain of discovering that your coffee maker has died. Luckily, I have two backup ones. Seriously, I really do. But I still have to go to the store and buy one with an automatic timer so my cuppa Joe is steaming hot and ready for me when I stagger toward it in the morning.

Which, this week, will be an hour later.

Want to contact me? I’m at mfisher@scng.com. I especially love it when you correct my grammar or send me diet tips.