Be There Or Be Square
Weaving madness in the fabric of time version 2.0
I don’t wear a watch.
I have. I’ve owned them. When I did I thought of it as a tool, jewelry with a purpose I guess. Oh the glory days of the Casio calculator watch or that gold banded timex with the red digits AND a fucking stopwatch??? Hell yeah.
I’ve destroyed a few because I tend to work with my hands or some awesome skateboarding accident. But over time I just found them cumbersome and weird holding some sort of status that I don’t understand or much less care for really.
I see these people spending ridiculous amounts of money on a watch and I just don’t get it. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with it, if it fucking makes you happy then tick tock your little heart out, but I have no clue how to size anyone up by the watch they wear. If you’re a dick, you’re a dick.
As I have lumbered my way through this life I have slowly developed a strange connection with time that allows me to rarely need a time piece. I know I’m not the only one, there are others out there… I see you. I’m not saying I have no use for a clock of any sort. But the near accuracy of my brain to know what time it is scares me of a regular basis.
I never asked for this skill, or curse or whatever the fuck it is. It just slowly developed over the years. It was surprisingly fine tuned when I was a drunk with insomnia, or an alcoholinsomiac, insomnialcoholic, there is something there. I’ll let you find it.
Now it’s just a part of my being and I am possibly obsessed with it in an unhealthy way. I guess it depends on how you look at it.
There are 4 major times in my daily clock. 4:00 a.m., noon, 2:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m. There is also that midnight and 2 a.m. pee time but those don’t really count.
No matter what season or time of year I wake up at 4 in the morning. Cock-a-doodle-do motherfuckers! I can stay up til 2 in the morning and my brain and body are ready to go two hours later. Like clockwork.
I’ve tried to stay in bed, find the cool spot on the pillow and hope I can slide back into that dream about having waffles with Nick Cave and Jaclyn Smith on a boat near the island of Corfu as we are being serenaded by a mariachi band. Never works.
Noon is some sort of reminder to me that the day is really happening and I’m about halfway there, wherever or whatever there is on any given day.
2:00 p.m. holds a couple of possibilities. If I’m working then it’s usually time to eat something. I don’t really take a lunch like most people. I just have to consume something so I don’t fall over at some point. If I am not working then most likely there will be a nap involved or something similar.
7:00 p.m. is the big downshift. Pump the brakes, cool my jets, punch the god damn clock… whatever you want to call it. My job doesn’t always allow me to “punch out” at 7, but in my head I’m fucking done.
And throughout the day without looking at a clock I just know what time it is. Like within a minute or two.
I’m not diagnosed OCD and I do feel for those that suffer from extreme levels of the disease, but I am pretty ridiculous when it comes to being on time in just about every situation. I don’t know where it came from but the anxiety that rages inside me when it comes to being prompt is similar to a food processor filled with marbles.
I get to work an hour early by choice just to make sure I’m ready to go for the day. I show up to appointments 30 minutes prior and sit in the parking lot just so I can walk in 15 minutes early. Don’t even get me started about air travel. If I had the option to camp out overnight to insure I’d make my flight on time, I would… and I’d still have a mind melting breakdown.
Waiting is the hardest part. (Two Tom Petty songs in a row? Why the fuck not.) Today is a prime example. I had to take my car in for an unexpected repair. Normally I would just do it myself but this requires tools I don’t have, can’t rent and really can’t afford to pay for. So, my lovely little car had to go into the car hospital for some minor surgery.
I dropped her off this morning and first had to wait for the estimate. Pretty rough. But now I have to wait for her to get finished and the not knowing will consume me for the next handful of hours until she is put back together and ready to come home. My jaw hurts from not knowing. I could tell myself that she will be done when the shop closes and be done with it.
But no. I will sit here and swim in a stew of anxious madness and drive myself crazy until I know she is done. I do this with anything and every damn thing I have to wait for. Time anxiety is a real thing and I am the poster boy.
My grandmother, Cheech, had this pendulum clock in her living room. For as long as I can remember that thing hung on the wall meticulously swinging to the precise beat of every second sharing it’s tick tock loud and clear. So loud and clear that I still hear that fucking thing to this day.
I’m not sure what significance it has or what profound psychological impact it has made on my life other than it was impossible to sleep in that house, but it’s there like time itself. And lately I have been looking at time in a different light I guess.
As terrifying as it makes me feel I value time quite a bit more these days. Time anxiety is a queen bitch, but sober time has proven to be a treasure I never anticipated.
There are a lot of words to be said about our time here on this little floating stone we all share that may sound a bit cliche. A lot of those words hold substantial truth. I mean, our time here is short and getting shorter with every passing moment. But it’s taken me a near lifetime to truly understand it’s value, fragility and importance.
These words by Mário de Andrade pretty much sum it up…
“I counted my years and found that I have less time to live from here on than I have lived up to now.
I feel like that child who won a packet of sweets:
he ate the first with pleasure, but when he realized that there were few left, he began to enjoy them intensely.
I no longer have time for endless meetings where statutes, rules, procedures and internal regulations are discussed, knowing that nothing will be achieved.
I no longer have time to support the absurd people who, despite their chronological age, haven't grown up.
My time is too short: I want the essence, my soul is in a hurry. I don't have many sweets in the package anymore.
I want to live next to human people, very human, who know how to laugh at their mistakes and who are not inflated by their triumphs and who take on their responsibilities.
Thus human dignity is defended and we move towards truth and honesty. It is the essential that makes life worth living.
I want to surround myself with people who know how to touch hearts, people who have been taught by the hard blows of life to grow with gentle touches of the soul.
Yes, I'm in a hurry, I'm in a hurry to live with the intensity that only maturity can give.
I don't intend to waste any of the leftover sweets. I am sure they will be delicious, much more than what I have eaten so far.
My goal is to reach the end satisfied and at peace with my loved ones and my conscience.
We have two lives and the second begins when you realize you only have one."
Wanna hear all the music?
Aaaaand this here…
"The road ahead is shorter than the one behind, either way I'm no closer to wisdom"