The Clock...

Perhaps my clock is beating with the same rhythm as my body...slowing when I do.  For the past few days, my old ticktock has not been keeping time...now off by six and one quarter hours.  What does that mean?  It means squat to the reader, but the reader is not in my time nor my space as we would not fit.  Aye, there is only room for one and, unfortunately, the reader is not privy to my shoes nor am I privy to theirs. 

So, why does the ol’ Bulova Westminster keep my time?  That is the grand question that I keep drawing.  Is this life imitating art with a twist?  This whole clock shit reminds me of a Twilight Zone episode (S05E12 Ninety Years Without Slumbering) in which the old grandfather clock had to be wound to keep the owner alive.  If the clock were to stop, the owner would die.  Do you believe that? *giggle Actually, the old man came alive when the clock died as he spent his life tending to it as if his life depended on it.  Had his belief remained intact, he might have expired when it did. 

Since I do not have the same situation, I can only ponder the synchronicity it has with my being.  It must be a bitch to have to move one’s arms so slowly...slow enough to hurt...slow enough to have to withdraw the dead limbs and hold a quarter to the hour for longer than need be.   As I look at the clock’s face, I question the validity of MY time.   This clock does not have to be wound, but the batteries may not be fully charged...today.  Time flies, but chickens do not.  I did have salmon today. ~ Arachne ~ June 30, 2014 in the p.m.     

http://www.bellacor.com/productdetail/bulova-c3381-tatianna-wall-chime-clock-103682.htm