We all have our lunacies. Mine is time.
But I wear the watch anyway, just in case.
The only time, so to speak, that I do not wear my watch is in the shower. I could buy a waterproof watch, but my obsession stops a hair short of that.
This time fixation applies also to years. Ages captivate me, especially that of people. My child bride, on the other hand, likely could not tell you my age or hers either, for that matter. To me, that’s a mystifying way to live.
In my last home in Houston, a two-bedroom condo I rented on Braes Bayou, where I lived alone, I had a clock on the wall in every room, including the john. I don’t think I slept with my watch in those days, but I could be mistaken.
The time obsession is likely related to being well-organized. I am exceptionally well-organized, so much so that I’ve been the target of humor, some mean-spirited, some not. But I got the last laugh.
Most of the chuckles came from my coworkers. But they’re still toiling at their desks to pay debts. I have no debts, and haven’t had any in a very long time. That’s part of being organized, plus keeping your eye on the hour and year.
As I end this, it is 9:18 a.m. And all’s well.