THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN TIME ZONES
Clock # 1
It is dark outside. I know this because the bedroom in which
I lie abed is dark. The alarm clock alarms me at six o’clock
sharp and I reach over to slap it quiet. Now I can snooze a
bit, just to enjoy the quiet morning—the quiet morning that is
interrupted by the dumpster truck right outside my window,
collecting the contents of an overflowing bin. It’s still nice to
lie here.
By the time I glance at the slapped clock, it’s seven a.m. and
time to hop barefoot onto the hardwood floor and flatfoot my
way to the bathroom, where I discover that it’s actually 7:10 a.m.
Clock # 2
In this, the second time zone of my morning, I must shower ten
minutes faster, brush my teeth ten minutes faster, do everything
else ten minutes faster to make up for the time difference between
bedroom and bathroom. I even listen to NPR twice as fast,
thus retaining little of what is broadcast at me. At 7:35 a.m.,
I descend the creaking stairs and evolve into the kitchen, where
the sink clock stares 7:25 a.m. at me.
Clock # 3
I take a deep breath, slow down a bit, and try to compensate
for the speed-up time-warp I’ve just put myself through. Make
coffee for Liz. Prepare my lunch. Pack my book bag.
Find my keys—oops, they are right here in my pocket.
By the time I’m ready to face the front door, I take one
last look at the sink clock, which grins 7:55 a.m. at me.
I dash into the yard, throw baggage into the front seat,
hop in, grab my seat belt, crank the engine, and note
that the clock radio reads 7:45 a.m.
Clock # 4
I won’t really know what time it is till I’m at the shop,
where the computer will report Central Standard Naval
Observatory Time. When the work day is done, I head home
and time-travel in reverse. Liz’s computer clock reports a
different time than my computer clock. Am I late or am I early?
Clock # 5
The cable TV clock reports that it’s 6:05 p.m., so I know
I’ll not have to worry about time till it’s Jon Stewart time
at 10 p.m. Nothing else to watch on TV. In Liz’s art studio, the
clock later that evening tells me in no uncertain terms that it’s
9:45 p.m. Time to go upstairs and do the Daily Show ritual.
When I arrive in the library, where TV screen stares blankly at
me, I notice that the TV clock says it’s only 9:40 p.m. Now I
have to stare at a lot of partial shows and commercials during
twenty minutes of mindless clicking, till Jon appears. After my
evening viewing habit is satisfied, I head for the bathroom, where
the clock reads 10:29 p.m.
Clock # 6
Once back abed, I look over at the clock that started
everything and note that the time is 10:45 p.m. But in
my head, where my circadian clock runs wild, it feels like
midnight.
Tossing and turning, I eventually get up for some water and
notice that the other clock, the one on Liz’s side of the bed,
is ten minutes faster than mine.
Clock # 7
I finally get to sleep, but who knows at what time and for how
long before the bedside alarm alarms me once again
© 2010 A.D. by Jim Reed
www.jimreedbooks.com
