“Spring forward” and “fall back.” Sounds simple enough.

But has anyone considered how easy it is to get them mixed up? To me, “spring back” and “fall forward” sound more natural. Think about it: Say you’re walking down the sidewalk staring at your phone and trip over a tricycle some kid left in the way. Which direction are you most likely to fall? Exactly.

And under what circumstances is a person my age likely to spring forward unless I’m training for the long jump in the Senior Games? Frankly, I haven’t been springing forward, backward, sideways or in any other direction lately. But if I had to, I’d probably spring back.

Like I did last summer while hiking when I came face to face with a clearly agitated snake ready to strike. Only an idiot would spring forward in that situation. So yes, I sprang back, then ran like the devil.

Which is why I accidentally set my clocks back AGAIN last month.

Knowing other folks my age, I can easily imagine I’m not the only one who got mixed up when it came time to change the clocks last month. Some people even make a habit of changing them a day or two early.

It’s not hard to see why. For two weeks before the time change, we get so many warnings and reminders that it starts to feel confusing. You begin to wonder whether the guy on the news said to change the clocks at 2 p.m. Saturday, 2 a.m. Sunday, last night or three days ago.

One of the most shocking parts of this twice-a-year ritual is discovering just how many clocks I actually have. I always seem to miss one or two, only to stumble across them weeks later and think, “Well, looky here, I completely forgot about that clock in the garage under the towel I use to dry off the dog.”

By the time you finish changing them all, they’re already slightly out of sync. Sometimes the difference is so dramatic that the clocks in the kitchen seem to be on standard time while the ones in the basement appear to be keeping time in Reykjavik, Iceland.

I never get around to changing the clock in my car. Mostly because I don’t think of it until I’m already sitting in the driver’s seat with my seat belt on. Then I nearly strangle myself trying to read the labels well enough to tell “minute” from “hour.” So I usually leave the clock alone and tell myself that at least I’ll be ahead of the game when the next time change rolls around.

Now that I’ve accepted the fact that I messed up and accidentally sprang back, I’m almost afraid to fix it. I’ve already lost track of how many times I’ve fed the dog twice in the same evening. And asking her whether she’s already eaten is useless because she’ll shake her head no matter what I ask.

The way I see it, if I spring back again, I’ll really be in trouble. That would put me three hours behind everyone else instead of the current two.

I guess there could be several advantages to that. For one, I’ll miss all my doctor and dentist appointments for the next few months. Also, according to nationwide statistics, a lot of sleep-deprived commuters will be getting into morning accidents while I’m still safely snoring in bed.

There’s also evidence that workplace accidents and heart attacks increase after people spring forward. Fortunately, I won’t have to worry about that because I’ll probably be fired after showing up three hours late all week.

I’d better stop here, though, because according to my watch, I only have a few minutes until this article is due, and I sure wouldn’t want it to be late.