The Clock

I’ve never really had to travel constantly for my job.  But there have been times.  God, there have been times. There are those years, those moments, when you wake up at 4am in a strange hotel room in a strange city, and you’re coming up on one hundred thousand miles on the flight trail, and you look at the clock and think what the hell am I doing?  And that’s me saying that, a neurotypical log of low emotional content and dead nerves.  What the hell am I doing?  Does this stop?  Can it stop?

And in the morning you’re back in another car, on the way to another airport, knowing it’s three more continents before dinner, looking at the clock, and it keeps on ticking, and you keep on moving, and you try to relax back into the ticking and keep moving into the future.

If you can still hear yourself over the tick of the clock, you’re lucky.  Hold on tight til the sun comes up.

 

READING: THE FICTION, Curt Pires & David Rubin with Michael Garland (UK) (US)