Three years ago, give or take, I stopped wearing a watch. It was a time of my life during which The Big Lebowski took on significant meaning. It was also the time in which this humble web log was born, so one should not scoff too loudly. Watches were things that squares wore. The very un-Dude like strapped timepieces to their wrists as if it would bring order out of chaos.
I was not a slave to such illusions. I was free from the restraints of bourgeois society, that foolish attempt to climb ever higher up some non-existent tower to win an unwinable race. Also, too I had no tan lines. Except for when I was running I wore a watch, but you have to do that to know if your doing any damn good at running. And swimming too, sometimes you need a watch for swimming.
But not for every day, man. That’s not my thing. I can just cruise and intuitively be here now. Except when I am supposed to be there, which happens more and more often when you are working. After a little while of being here when I was supposed to be there, I began to get nervous. It always seemed like I was missing connections, always wondering what time it was. Until earlier this week, when I kept my watch on after I ran. It felt great to know what time it was. All day long.