If all those years watching 'Back to the Future' taught me anything, it's that time is a construct and, really, means very little. (Eastern philosophy has also taught me that, but the brain being the nostalgic sod it is, prefers the vehicle of 80's cinema). Either way, it's an impossible understanding to live in.
We are slaves to the clock, I get that. The sun doesn't give a flying fig if we think it sets at 8:02 or 8:03. It just sets, and we have to scramble behind it, assigning it numbers and schedules (and meetings and memos, classroom bells, too, if we could get away with it), because we can't seem to handle, at least collectively, this idea that we aren't in charge. Not just of the natural beasts like sunrise, moonrise, and season shifting, but of each other.
As kiddos, we're trained to bells, to schedules, to mealtimes and bedtimes. As adults, we rebel, gathering up all the nighttime hours as ours (finally!), only to find exhaustion at the other end, dragging ourselves through someone else's daytime schedule.
And it's a slippery thing, this time-assignment. Who says? Who's the one guy we can blame for this? Because chances are, we find that guy, and he's bitching about his own lack of time, his own exhaustion, his own grumpy need for a nap, sun up or no.
So I don't know, you guys. The time you do have (the unscheduled bit of it), toss away the watch for a while. Phone, too (man, those things are the worst), and just do what the sun does--stretch your day until its end, and when it's done, so are you.