Stupid Clock Face

I was at the gym the other day and something happened that left me completely dejected, as opposed to the usual depression slash melancholy of having to watch 20-year-old girls getting more lithe and more fitter than anyone needs to be. 

Note to self: you are probably at the age when it is probably best to not compare your body shape with 20-year-olds.  But, hey, I'm a chick and that's what we do, to our detriment of course.

Anyway, blah, blah, blah, that wasn't the main source of my deflation.  I was finishing up stretching and I leant on the wall and came face to face with a ticking timebomb.  Well it was a ticking clock, but it was one of those ticking clocks with moving hands that provide an annoying continuous sweep for the minute hand rather than the much slower and less stressful tick, tick, tick.

There's nothing like a minute hand flying at a breakneck pace to let you know that time is running out.  Just, you know, in general.  Now these clocks have me completely psyched out, as if I'll look over and they'll have unexpectedly bent the space time continuum and I'll be trapped in a timewarp circa June 2028.  I hope they don't wear 80's fashion in 2028.  It sucked the first time around.

That out of control minute hand caused me some fleeting widespread panic and alarm, and then I went home.

I know; blog post fail.  It really is quite mind-boggling the things I find worthy of words in blog posts.