Living At The Speed Of Time

 

      I love clocks.  I have loved clocks ever since I can remember.  Let me think...  Actually, I can remember.  My high school sweetheart's parents had an ornately decorated, dark wood, antique grandfather clock in their foyer.  It was about seven feet tall and had a long shiny gold pendulum with the bottom round part the size of a dinner plate.  I heard it chime for the first time at dinner but its tune was not Westminster Chimes like Big Ben, it was different, more musical and smooth.  Her mother told me it was called Whittington Chimes.  There was something about that sound that I loved.

 

       I ended up marrying my high school sweetheart and one of the first things we bought was a chiming wall clock.  (We couldn't afford a nice grandfather clock.)  The clock we bought was fairly plain, dark wood and glass about one foot wide and two and a half feet tall, but it chimed beautifully, and you could choose Westminster or Whittington Chimes.  We bought a very nice, colorful and ornate cuckoo clock on vacation in Germany.  And one of our relatives gave us this very nice ornate anniversary clock.  It was about eight inches high and under a dome of clear glass.  Instead of a pendulum it had three balls on the bottom that spun one direction for a few turns and then back the other way, over and over.  We had an antique mantle clock and others too.  I hope my ex-wife has enjoyed them all these 26 years we have been divorced.

 

      Somewhere along the way I lost the love for clocks and have developed an obsession with time.  I have at least one of those cheap, round, plastic, electric, analog wall clocks in every room.  Wherever I sit or stand for any length of time, a clock must be within my sight.  In the bathroom I positioned the clock so I can see it in the mirror, but placed it high enough that I can see it while I'm in the shower.  And. of course I have a clock above the kitchen sink, even though there are two more clocks on the microwave and the stove.  My cable box and my TV have clocks and there are clocks on all five of my computers.  In my bedroom I have two clocks, each on a bedside table on both sides of my bed.  They are bright red LED alarm clocks positioned so I don't have to turn over to see the time.  Don't forget the clocks in the car, on my cell phone, and on my two iPods.  All those clocks and I don't wear a watch.

 

      Every thing we do in life takes time.  And time passes relentlessly at the same speed, but we don't perceive it that way.  Sometimes time flies and sometimes it drags.  When I have a day off I watch the clock constantly so no time will slip by.  But I'm not perfect.  When I am doing something I like or am concentrating on, like writing, I forget to look and, CRAP!  Hours get past me.  I hate that.  When I get up in the morning on my day off I think, "Sixteen hours before I have to go to bed."  I count down time all day.  Right now I have two-and-half hours left.  I don't want to go to work!

 

      At work it's different, that's why I don't wear a watch.  I don't want to know what time it is.  I want to lose track of time.  I want to be so busy and so swamped with work that I don't have time to think about it.  On my perfect day I punch in on time and don't notice the clock until just in time for lunch.  At lunch I count every minute until I punch back in.  And then, as in the morning, I don't notice the clock until just in time to punch out and go home.  As soon as I get home I look at my clock just inside the door and figure out how many hours I have until I must go to bed.

 

      I pray to God everyday that I die quickly and don't linger in consciousness.  I dread the thought of watching the clock tick... tick... tick... tick... so slowly as I suffer in pain withering away, tick... tick... tick... tick...

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