What Time Is It?

I need a watch.

For a few years now, I’ve been using my cellular telephone to tell the time, much like our ancestors used the sun and… shadows. This is usually a perfectly acceptable manner of time telling. My hands and wrists are unadorned with any jewelry — rings or bracelets (or whatever the masculine word for “bracelets” is… if that’s possible… “gauntlets,” perhaps?), and at some point in my life, a watch started feeling dangerously close to such a too-flashy-for-me accessory.

I used to wear a watch, though — before the proliferation of cell phones (to which I was typically late to get on board). Being left handed, I wore my wrist watches on my right wrist. This was due to the fact that, as a lefty, I drag my hand across the page when writing. I learned to write before teachers and parents were instructed to tell the kiddies to keep the wrist straight when writing, you see — so I kind of write upside down, bad for the wrist and also often resulting in a dirty hand side — either ink stained or grayish silver from the pencil graphite.

With a black watch, this was not a big deal to me, but one year for Christmas I asked for and received a Swatch. You remember those, right? Maybe you don’t have to, as they might be popular again — I have no idea what is popular with the kids (or the adults… I am neither) nowadays. Rubber wrist bands = awesome, though. This one was tan and green with a watch face featuring a cheerful crocodile saying, “G’day, mate!” I didn’t know what to make of this specific Swatch design, but it was a Swatch, and they were really cool at the time, so kid me was happy.

The problem with this particular Swatch was that tan wristband. Wearing it on my left wrist, the common watch wrist, resulted in staining the band the same as my hand. Like I inferred a few sentences ago, I’d never noticed it with my less “hip” black-banded watches, but now I was messing up my Swatch! So, I made the wrist switch, as many lefties do even for non-light-clolored-Swatch-band-reasons.

And, even post-Swatch, this is how I continued to wear my watches, like a good lefty. All was swell until I started using computers more and more.

Acclimating, as many lefties do, to the right-handed way of life (which studies show leads to shorter life spans for my people), I just kept the mouse on the right side and controlled it with my lesser right hand. (I also air guitar and now Guitar Hero the right-handed way — it’s insane and hand-racist, I know, but it’s the world in which we live). But the watch on that right wrist, with the mouse and whatnot was uncomfortable, pressing my wrist against the band. Life is tough, but c’mon — how much does a lefty have to suffer? I could’ve gotten a pocket watch, but I my pockets are always stuffed enough, what with my keys, wallet, change, and — oh! My cell phone. Which has a clock on it. Boom. Crisis averted. Off the watch went. Indeed, as it eventually replaced my land line and calculator, my cell phone replaced my wristwatch. So convenient.

And this usually works fine… except in times when I have to turn off my phone. Like on planes. Like right now, as I try to write this — with pen and paper, oddly enough, staining the side of my hand with ink… writing on a bumpy flight (which is making my admittedly crap handwriting almost illegible to me as I — future D.J. to the D.J. who was handwriting this — try to type it out for this wildly unread blog), sitting next to a big guy my size who doesn’t seem to feel the need to scrunch himself uncomfortable into the size of a small human for the comfort of others like I do. And I find myself wondering ho much longer this flight is. Three hours and forty-five minutes in the air total… but how long have we been in the air? With no time telling device at my disposal due to my having to turn off my cell phone, I have no idea! Could be an hour. Could be three hours. Could be days. Maybe we’re going in circles. Maybe the pilot missed the airport, and we’re going to have to turn around. I lack an internal clock and simply have no idea how long we’ve been in the air. It’s causing me to panic a little, as I’m mighty uncomfortable.

I need a watch.

And you, dear reader, need to believe in your dreams. No, I do not have any idea why I typed that. Just trying to be uplifting, reader. Why question it? Stop being a jerk, reader-in-my-head… with whom I am not having a fake argument at the end of a relatively straightforward blog post.

Um… sorry.

I need a watch!

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