Second Hand

The goddamned clock. I'm always waiting for something. Counting down to something. I have ten minutes until some fucking misery. Two hours until I can sleep. Two days until I have to work again. One day, twenty three hours. One day twenty two hours, one day twenty one hours fifty nine minutes, and on. 

I wrote a line in a song once about it. That inescapable pull of the second hand. I often wonder if anyone hears that line as I sing it. If anyone feels it.

I was sitting at my computer, typing, drinking, staring at the clock in the corner. 

I'm still there, panicking.