Time Piece

2 November 2007

Strange the way machines write into us. I'm waiting for someone, he's late, I'm stressed about it because right after this now-destined-to-be-brief meeting, there's something else and someone else I need to meet in another place, and tight after that something else etc. I'm imagining the pileup of all these things and how that will play through and the gesture that I'm half doing, half imagining as I scan the café and the passing crowds to see if the guy is here yet, is that of neurotically flipping my hand/wrist towards me, as if looking at a wrist watch. I don't own one, haven't owned or worn one for years, maybe 20 years, even longer. But somewhere between the time I did wear one, and all the movies or descriptions of people 'anxiously looking at the their watches' its in me as a kind of body-writing, and I'm half doing it here, repeatedly, in this terribly incomplete way as I sit in this cafe. A habit echo of something long gone.