Recently I've found myself unable to live in the moment. Instead, I find myself constantly searching out and staring at clocks. Perhaps it's due to my new-found compulsion to count how many hours I have left with my husband--a habit that I am sure is as unhealthy as my many other neuroses (patting my left then right pockets for keys and cell phone every time I exit my vehicle comes to mind). This new obsession came into sharp relief over Thanksgiving, when Cody and I were able to spend four nearly-glorious days together.
As has been mentioned countless times as being the bane of our marriage, Cody's and my sleep schedules once again became an obstacle over Thanksgiving. A prime example is Saturday. I woke up when Cody came in from working third shift, and we went out to brunch at one of our favorite hole-in-the-wall places downtown. After overfilling ourselves on our favorite breakfast fare and having a waitress spill gravy on my thigh, we walked back to the apartment. Since Cody wasn't quite tired we relaxed together in the living room, talking about everything while he played Skyrim. (This resulted in a discussion comparing and contrasting this fantasy world to Middle Earth...oh yes, we're those people.) Finally, about three o'clock, Cody decided to go to sleep. I believe a combination of not having grading to do and tryptophan made it so that I napped a lot over break. I decided to join Cody, but I didn't sleep long. I woke up at four, and Cody asked me to wake him up around five thirty.
So what does this have to do with clocks? This sounds like a lovely beginning to the day! After leaving Cody to sleep, I lounged in chaise-bliss watching ridiculousness on Netflix, all the while keeping an eye on the clock's minute hand slowly winding its way around its mahogany face toward the six. "Twenty minutes until I need to wake up Cody." "Five minutes until I need to wake up Cody." When I descended the three steps into our bedroom, however, I was greeted with grunts about the need to sleep more. Try seven. More time passed. "Twenty minutes until I need to wake up Cody." "Five minutes until I need to wake up Cody." More groaning mingled with the reply, "Let me sleep until 8:30." This dance continued until 10:30, giving me a full six and a half hours of clock-watching. I understand that Cody couldn't know how much sleep he would need. Sometimes he can function perfectly after sleeping for a mere three hours; other times he needs a minimum of seven hours of unconsciousness to be able to drag himself back to work, especially after having a difficult night with clients the night before. Regardless, I felt trapped in the apartment, doomed to watch campy television shows and stare at spinning hands as my mini-vacation slipped away from me. If I had known that Cody would have needed that much sleep, I would have perused Barnes and Noble or sipped a mocha at Starbucks (or perhaps both, since B&N was so clever about that combination!). Yes, Cody could have just set an alarm, but we both think I provide a much nicer wake-up service than the buzzer on Cody's phone that sends anyone in earshot jolting out of whatever piece of furniture happens to reside under their buttocks. Plus, my mother instilled a near-phobia in me of being out and about by myself after dark. This coupled with my overactive imagination makes it a wonder I haven't stabbed some innocent bystander in the eye with a key yet... But back to the point: I couldn't enjoy that time I had as the sole conscious being in the apartment because I was so busy counting the time until Cody would wake up and how much time we would actually get to spend with each other over break. (Not counting the couple of naps we took together, we were in each other's company for a grand total of 23 hours over the course of fourdays.)
Now that I am back to my normal weekday life of teaching and exhaustion, an interesting thing has happened. The clock in my classroom started seizing. New batteries didn't help the matter, and even after taking apart the clock I couldn't figure out what its issue was. Suddenly there is no clock to tell me how much time I have left for instruction in a class period. There is no point on the wall upon which students eyes become fixed and glaze over about five minutes before the bell. My students keep begging me to put in a work order to get a new clock. I'm not sure what I'll do; it's honestly quite nice to have a place in which I do not feel the need to stare at clocks.
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