Time.
Mid-afternoon. One foot tapping rhythmically as I contemplate my workout for the day. I still need to write it down on an index card to keep me on track at the gym. I think about the bag I have in the car, packed early this morning. Ready to go.
I glance down at my watch. Thirty-five minutes until I can leave. Return my gaze to the computer screen.
Head snap, back to the watch. Eyes open wide. Wrong watch.
I realize that I forgot to pack the durable Timex with years of sweat embedded in the band. Dammit. The tapping foot is relentless now. I always work out with that watch.
Exhale slowly. It’s cool. I can time myself on the wall clock at the gym. My foot stops tapping.
Dammit.

















