It is always seven forty-five. The clock has stopped and I keep forgetting to get batteries.
In the living room it is 8:30 on one wall and 6:30 on another.
The mantle clock of Mom and Dad's has stopped from Dad's last winding and I cannot find the key. It is an eight day clock and it chimes on every half hour. I remember Dad winding it carefully, not too little and not too much. I also remember Mom telling him to NOT wind the chimes.
In the kitchen, the wall clock is too tall and it is still set to day light savings time. Two other clocks have died.
Do I have an adversion to timing my life or do I dream of a day when time does not matter?
Obviously, I love clocks. I find myself drawn to them in a store and say to myself, no more clocks. I have even made clocks. I do not attend them properly so do I need to sell all my clocks or leave them frozen in time, as they are now?
One more random thought...I got an email that said, "We'll trample bright persimmons, while you kill and goldenrod is dust when dead." Now this is a strange email like those you get to enlarge certain parts or make you a hot babe. I read it again and strangely it sounded poetic to me. I read it again and thought, I like this.
I read again and said, "Gail, you need to go to bed. You are really tired!" Could it have something to do with the small glass of wine I had at my sister-in-law's or these strangers in my head?