February 18

I lost
my watch by forgetting it in the pocket of a hotel spa’s snow white
bathrobe, and it is certain to have been already laundered by some
costly laundering service that comes with a truck and bears it away,
so I know it’s truly gone, which is why I’m not where I’m
supposed to be right now, supposed to have been twenty minutes ago,
because without the watch on my wrist I have no reminder, nowhere to
check the time, which I do anyway out of force of habit and because
my watch is a sidekick, a constant companion, but without it and
because I am trying to save money I haven’t bought another even
though it’s a Timex, not expensive, and totally reliable even if
you take a shower, which I rarely do these days on account of being
afraid to fall and because my hands have been hurting. Anyway had I
had it on as I lay napping with the dogs I know I’d’ve gotten up.
I would have seen how I had only seven minutes more of sleep. But
maybe it’s a nod to being irresponsible because generally I am
conscientious and only forgetful and I know this is a day with a cake
in it but the cake is where I am supposed to be, not where I am,
sitting home trying not to waste this time which is ordinarily
precious because I love the place I am supposed to be but am now too
late. I blame this also on the fact that I wrote a poem that turned
out to be good, about the death of a man I loved and I want to stay
home and keep it company.

Abigail Thomas
05 29 16