If you are at all like me, time feels like a strange bedfellow. But more directly, I have a love-hate relationship with clocks. Digital or traditional, on a watch or on a wall. It doesn't really matter.
So how does it work?
I love clocks when they tell me what I want to hear. For example, if I wake up in the middle of the night and accidentally see the time, I am happy to see a result between midnight and 5:00 AM.
I say accidentally because I go out of my way to avoid seeing the clock at night. Why? Because I'd rather not know that I only have one hour of sleep left to go. Psychologically, it matters.
During the day clocks are more of an objective tool. Meetings start and meetings end on time (or are supposed to). Although there are times when I race the clock on the commute home. When racing, the clock becomes an adversary once again.
Can't we all just get along?
Don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against clocks. I just want more control over them.
But here's one other issue I have. Why do all digital clocks have such a bright glow? The one by my bed could be seen through fog from far out at sea. Now is that really necessary? Some night I worry that I will wake up with a green sun tan or some disease from exposure to green light. I think they call this particular malady "lime disease".
OK, now you've got me started. My kids have clocks that are the worst of them all. Their clocks are digital, have bright readouts and . . . hold your hats . . . project the time on the ceiling above your head. So my poor kids, little do they know, are being subjected to the worst kind of time exposure. Constant. Poor innocent things are painted into a corner. One brief opening of the eyes and ZAP! they are instantly exposed.
But perhaps this early exposure is not a curse but a blessing. Perhaps this early exposure will allow them to grow up with a joy for time - even (gulp) in the dark of night.
As I shudder with fear at the thought of too much time, they will sleep like babies. A small smile cracking their lips.
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