I’m not a fan of clocks. It’s not the Father Time thing either, although he’s turning out to be a major pain in my ass as well. It’s the ticking and the tocking. Over and over and over again with expected precision increasing in intensity the more you desperately try to avoid it. I have a freakishly heightened awareness to sound, to the point I am certain that when the aliens invade I will undoubtedly become one of their high priority research projects. My worst nightmares include me being locked in a small room with loose change scattered about the floor, no furniture, and one very large wall clock mounted just beyond reach.
As most adaptable human beings tend to do when dealing with general annoyances, I have learned to compensate for things within my control. I simply choose not to own a clock that ticks and tocks. Brilliant, I know. It took a while for me to adequately problem solve through it. In graduate school, I used to take the clocks off the wall in my apartment and attempt to suffocate them under a pile of towels in my linen closet while I intensely studied for hours on end. Taking the batteries out would’ve accomplished the same thing but that adds the step of reseting the clock when you’re ready to hang it back up, and who the hell has time for that? I am efficient to the core and obviously smart as a whip.
Nowadays I merely avoid them altogether. Nondigital clocks are simply not allowed in my house. Quite frankly, the choice is me or a clock that ticks and tocks and so far my family has chosen me. Do I care that my kids very well might never be able to accurately tell time using the hands on a clock? Nope, not one bit. Just like cursive writing, I have a hunch that some day telling time will be slowly phased out or at the very least considered optional practice. Is it really that important? We’re all going to die someday. Why keep track?
On a separate but related note, my husband snores. It reminds me of a ticking clock because of the extremely high annoyance factor. Also, like clockwork, you can predict exactly when it’s going to repeatedly happen, over and over and over again until it seeps into your soul and transforms you into the devil himself. Unlike a clock, you can’t get rid of it or make any real attempt at suffocation. You can move away from the sound but there are only so many walls in your house before you’re outside, and it’s really fucking cold outside right now where I live. Captain Obvious might suggest using a fan or a small noise machine to drowned out the exasperating sound. Insert eye roll here.
I had the pleasure of knowing and adoring the sweetest most loving and devoted married couple that ever walked our planet. They were married for almost a million years and they never argued or bickered, they always smiled at each other from across the room, they lovingly referred to each other as “Ma” and “Pa,” and they chose to share a cookie. I have my theories as to why they were so easily able to break the standard till death do us part mold (i.e. genuinely be nice to each other throughout the passage of time). A. They never had kids. B. They slept in separate bedrooms.
I sometimes imagine my own bedroom complete with cool tones, noise cancelling walls, light cancelling drapes, the faint smell of lavender ever so delicately being diffused into the air from the bedside nightstand that also adorns the novel that has been bookmarked for continued reading. I imagine a pillow top mattress that I sink so far into I can no longer be seen. Sheets that don’t reek of the prior week’s sweat and void of crusty kid snot. A down comforter that smells none like manhood, but rather like a field of daisies on a pleasant summer evening with non attention seeking continuous white noise humming in the background without interruption.
Is it too much to ask? Does a happy marriage really have to start in the bedroom? Or can we put societal norms and expectations aside for a brief moment and imagine what it would be like to wake up refreshed and rested and still in love with our spouse the next morning? Moreover, is it healthy to want to bludgeon each other in the middle of every single night for something outside of human control? Does repeated and forceful kicking of the source of your disrupted sleep in an effort to disrupt his sleep really add any sort of positivity to a relationship? I asked my husband to roll over the other night. He responded after the 17th time, “Like a dog?”
“Yes honey, like a fucking dog.”
Beam me up, Scotty.