Daylight Savings Time was last week, and I still have no idea what time it is right now. Noon? 1pm? 11am? Beats the hell out of me. When I woke up Sunday morning, half my clocks had switched over automatically, while the other half had not. The trouble is, I have no idea which clocks are automatic and which aren’t.

My computer, which you’d think would switch automatically, said 12:01. My cellphone, which you’d also think would be automatic, said 11:01. To make matters worse, my wristwatch said 1:01, which makes me suspect that I’ve actually been living on the wrong time for the past five months without even realizing it.

I know this all sounds irrational and made-up – a clever joke I constructed for the sake of a good column topic – but it’s not. I’m dead serious. I honestly don’t know what freaking time it is right now. I’ve been unemployed for much longer than five months, so it’s not entirely unfathomable that I’ve spent a half year of my life not knowing the correct time.

I was wasted on New Year’s Eve, so I wouldn’t have noticed my watch being off then. I’m never on time for any appointment I have in life, and everyone is used to that, so nobody would have said anything if I showed up to an event an hour early or late. I DVR all my TV shows, so I never have to know what time shows start. I don’t wake up early enough to watch morning news shows, so I wouldn’t have noticed the difference in their on-screen clocks. The free weather channel offered in Los Angeles has a clock, but the station is entirely in Spanish, and I heard somewhere that people in Mexico don’t believe in time and just use the moon to track whether they should take off their pants yet or not.

My friends on Facebook tried to tell me what time it is, but my friends are cruel sadists, so I don’t trust them. My mom tried to tell me what time it was when I talked to her on the phone yesterday, but she thinks Wii Fit is a brand of tampons and Lady Gaga is the name of the daughter on The Munsters, so why should I believe her? I would play an online game on my PS3 and ask people the time, but the entire voice chat community for video game systems is made up of 10-year-olds shouting racial slurs to get reactions out of people, so they won’t help.

If NBC news anchor Brian Williams told me what time it was, I would believe him. I find him calming and trustworthy. But I watched his entire broadcast tonight and that asshole didn’t say the time once. Up your butt, Brian Williams.

The longer I go without knowing what time it is, the more paranoid I get. This is what happens when you’re a sarcastic douche and all your friends are also sarcastic douches. You’re left with no one you can trust when you really need it, like when you don’t know what time it is, or you need help moving a heavy piece of furniture, or you filed your taxes while drunk and need to figure out how to get them back.

What started out as a typical day, where I wake up and eat Honeycomb cereal while taking a sexy bath, ended up a neurotic disaster where I charted out the exact details of how people have been hiding the correct time from me my entire life. The day ended with me streaking through my neighborhood nude while screaming about beholding a pale horse.

If someone from Duluth could please buy a Casio watch, set it to the correct California time, and then mail it to me at my apartment, I would be greatly appreciative. If I receive 12 watches with the same time on them, I’ll trust that time as being correct. But if I receive even one watch with a different time, I will drive all the way to Brian Williams’ house in Connecticut and take his two dogs hostage.

I will also browse through the ties in his closet and steal the snazziest one.

I will also steal his hair gel, and post a list of all his prescription medications on the internet.

An easier solution would be to just wake up early and look at the clock on The Today Show, but I really, really hate Meredith Vieira. Also, there’s no way I’m getting up early when I’m unemployed. Also, I really want to try on all of Brian Williams’ suits, and kiss his wife while she sleeps.

But hey, send those watches. No reason to drive to Connecticut unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’ll mail the watches back after I’m done. I’m not a watch thief, even if it were Brian Williams’ watch. If it were his, I’d just put it in my mouth for a few seconds and then place it back on his nightstand.