It says 9:57, I have 7.
For some strange reason, my clock's been 19 minutes ahead of time
for a while now. I imagine it started with 5, pushed slowly to 7, then 10, to 13, 15, 16,
finally 19. As I stare at the lifeless digits, I realize I'm surrounded by a world of compromise, victim to a very challengeable notion of security. I stop, for over a minute, wondering how the numbers have managed to assume such pitiful proportions. I realize I've set my clock forward to live an illusion, to revel in the comfort that arises from knowing time's on my side. It doesn't make sense because I'm sure anyone who does so intrinsically employs subtraction to get back to the right time, like a reflex.
As I wonder why, I figure I've been further complicating what I'd like to believe was a simple life, ignorant, carefree and unpretentious. Hidden somewhere in those digits
is a desire to cheat reality, a desire that's ended up cheating me into believing
I can make it early to work or anywhere else for that matter, or that I can trick my brain into believing I'm late so I panic when I actually have 15 more minutes to use.
The truth is, no matter how far ahead you set your time,
it's of no use unless you forget you've done so.
So I tell myself, as I sense the need to move, freedom runs on roads less travelled,
far from the bylanes convenience frequents. And it is in staring reality in the face
by choosing to disreconcile with circumstance that life finds honest expression.
I resume my walk, the pace is slower, things seemingly clear. I walk into office, head straight for the PC, hit 'time' in Google’s search bar and set my clock to the first result, haven't changed it since.