I often wake up and have to squint to focus on the clock to see the time it’s old age and weak eye’s. I knew something was wrong after the third time of waking, I am possibly using the word waking in the wrong context, it’s more like that haze between sleep and the reality of being awake, a place where your subconscious is still dreaming but your eyes are operating but really struggling.
The clock said 23:38 for the third time and even in the state of semi consciousness even a dope like me knew there was something wrong with time and motion, after all time and tide waits for no man and all that. I realised something was drastically wrong. Time can’t stand still!
Finally I found the strength to emerge from my comatose state stretched out my arm and illuminated the room by struggling with the bedside lamp, I hate that thing.
I stared at the clock and the numbers said 23:38!!!
Either I was in a parallel universe or I had only been asleep for a few minutes.
I bet you have all worked out what I was unable to. My faithful servant had stopped and 23:38 had become its swan song. It’s gone up the ghost and gone to that place in the sky where bedside clocks go. I now know it’s next destination will be the council tip to take its rightful place in the council’s big hole filling scheme. Recycling ?? No recycling is to good for that Judas I want to know it feels the pains I have felt as it tricked me into thinking I was finally mad.
This is my ode to my useless clock.
Goodbye and good riddance. Where is the Argos catalogue.