Today marks a week since my watch stopped. I've been attached to it for so many years that my left wrist feels weak and naked without it. I always thought that I needed to know what time it was, all the time. Not just that, but I like to know how much time has passed and how much time is left. It doesn't matter what, I just like to keep track. That's why I wear an old-fashioned analog watch (the kind with hands instead of digits). It gives scope and perspective to time. It gives it shape and dimension.

I could have taken my watch in this morning and had a new battery put in it. I had time, but I didn't do it. In fact, I didn't even think about it when I left the house. I think this was the first day that I haven't even missed the watch. Most of the time I don't really need it anyway. I go out, do my errands, and come back home. It doesn't matter how long they take, because they have to be done regardless.

In fact, I was kind of congratulating myself on how I've gained independence. I'm no longer a prisoner of time, or so I thought. So I thought until the power went out tonight, a little before eight o'clock. In the dark, there is no time (not to mention no light). The power was off for an hour, but it might as well have been all night. Not knowing what time it was left me in a mild state of panic. I think I might take my watch in tomorrow and get that new battery.

When the lights came back on, just before nine, I ran frantically around the house setting all the electronic clocks. Without my watch, which before its recent demise kept perfect to-the-second time for many, many years, I had to turn the speaker phone volume up and call the Time Lady. I'm glad she's still around after all these years, but I hope she's as accurate as my late, lamented watch.