Sunday, May 21, 2006

My Enemy, the Clock

Yes, the clock is my enemy -- an ambidextrous task master that points an accusing baton at the minutes while snapping a feverish whip at each ticking second as if one of them might otherwise lollygag a millisecond or two. A few slothful seconds sure could work in my favor, though, especially if they started an epidemic of slackers and gave me a little time to eat something for lunch besides my fingernails. But no. The clock won't allow it.

Although I knew my writing time would diminish somewhat in the shadow of full time employment, I didn't expect to subdivide that time further with a clinging part time job -- no, wait, that's too diplomatic -- what I meant to say was a former job that can't make due with six weeks notice and expects me to sacrifice every lunch break, afternoon, and weekend to "train" my replacement. Factor family time, singing time, and volunteer time into that equation and that clock's baton is suddenly a minute bashing billy club.


The Moviequill said...

hey, do you put salsa on your nails? ha... I have a bad habit of picking at my fingers when I am tense or nervous... I bought Breaking Habits For Dummies, and it didn't work. I am considering hypnosis but that uses up my contest entry funds. Any suggestions?

MaryAn Batchellor said...

An eighth inch of acryllic -- you can gnaw, but nails don't break.

The Moviequill said...

but will I look good in red?...better go with gothic punk rock black or the neighbours will talk (oh yeah, I forgot, they can't)