“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”
From Janis Joplin’s recording of “Me and Bobby McGee.”
Today is spring-ahead day, and I have no clocks to reset, and I am having a through-the-looking-glass moment: every clock that owns you represents a loss of liberty.
Ten years ago it would take me at least 24 hours to remember every clock whose altar I had to kneel at.
Resetting my wristwatch was obvious, and the clocks on the microwave and oven winked at me like the hos on the corner.
The alarm on the bedroom clock was set only the night before long-distance flights, but the LED display let me know how often I woke at night.
I never had wall clocks, but most people have one in the kitchen, and, whether for fashion or obsession, some have others in living rooms and bathrooms.
The clock on the dashboard of the car, sometimes escaped its benediction for a few days. The clock that noted the time in the answering machine—remember, I am talking ten years ago—might be a week before it was attended to.
Today, I don’t wear a wristwatch, and the electricity to my microwave is disconnected after every use. I don’t have a clock on the dashboard of the Jolly Swag.
I feel like I have forgotten a few clocks of old, but that’s a good thing, right?
I don’t care if my four-minute eggs are a minute off, or even ten.
I have a clock on my cell phone and one on my laptop. They both know when DST turns on and off. The cell phone even knows what time zone I am in.
I am still beholden to the calendar, but less and less. I have an invitation to a regional bridge tournament in Raleigh in May. And I see a note to myself about the NE Trek Club rally in September in New York.
Freedom is no clocks left to wind and nothing on the calendar.
So, bubele, how many clocks do you reset?