I will no longer be living in the future. After years of constantly looking forward, I have decided to plant my feet squarely in the present and face the world as it is. How did I accomplish this? I set my clock.
For years and years, the clock beside my bed had been set a few minutes ahead, in hopes of tricking my brain into lurching forward because it always appeared to be later than it appeared. I was easily fooled, since I was the one who pushed the "set" button in the first place. I was also the one who had to do the increasingly arcane math to determine the actual time. It also meant that anyone who saw that clock would immediately experience the terror of lost time without the comfort of the knowledge of setting that clock.
It started innocently enough, back when I was in high school. Back then, I padded my day with four extra minutes, even though back then I was prone to waking minutes before any alarm I set. It gave me an air of superiority: master of time. I knew that no matter what the situation, I would always have an extra four minutes to deal with it.
By the time I got married, had a kid, changed jobs, those four minutes didn't seem enough cushion. I pressed the button forward and landed, after a few short stops, at twenty minutes. As a person who routinely shows up to events fifteen minutes early, one third of an hour became a burden. What could I possibly do with all that time? This was especially true when I added in the time that I used each week to discuss or navigate the time zones in my house. With two very analog clocks in the living room and kitchen that require constant winding and adjustment to keep up with the passage of time, the fabric of reality was being stretched to a breaking point.
I know what time it is. I'm not kidding myself anymore. If I'm making up for lost time, at least I'll be doing it the old fashioned way: by rushing about.