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the bonnie banks
Oct. 6th, 2004 08:23 am.
Last week I scuffed the crystal of my watch, again. I rubbed it and managed to even out the opacity so that the whole face of the plastic digital timepiece was just that much worse than it was before I scuffed it again. Note to self, new watch being needed soonly. When time comes to replace the battery, don't. Hate to leave a watch -- or anything -- while it's still working, but there's such a thing as going too far, I guess.
Yesterday morning, my watch went off as usual at 6 am. It's my alarm clock, too, and I time my nap at work with it. With practiced clumsiness, I thrashed efficiently for the plastic button (ask me about metal buttons some time) that shuts off the alarm, only to find out that I was lying between the end parenthesis and the comma just then. It didn't shut off the alarm. Repeated pressing and unspoken curse words (Sarah said "dammit" the other day) availed similarly. Time alone shut off the alarm, the usual ten seconds, I guess.
When I got it to some light, it was frozen at 6:00 am, and none of its buttons would change that, so I took it as a sign and stopped at Target on my way in to work and invested twenty dollars in a new Coleman watch. Huge numbers, the biggest I've had on a watch yet, plus the same features as my previous watch. The days of the week are depicted on a sort of roller coaster chart. There's two ways to turn the light on -- shades of the well-wired house I grew up in! The buttons are plastic (okay, I had a watch with metal buttons, and it kept reverting to 12:00 1/1/01 or whatever its default was, and it turned out that the buttons were getting zapped by static electricity from the plant by the office door, and I resolved no more metal buttons), but they press a little too easily. I may have to concoct a little barrier from white glue to reduce accidental pressing. For now, I'm leaving the clear plastic over the crystal.
So far, so good. It wakes me up in the morning, or cues me to stop going back to sleep, whatever, and it's not loud enough to wake up the rest of the house (Sarah & Cathy). I can read those big, remedial-looking digits with minimal squinting. Right now it's telling me to go to work, in a tinny little voice that cuts off parts of words. I've already had my morning piano time, playing and re-playing "Loch Lomond," a piece that awakens whatever ancestral soul I have. It's one of my earliest memories, back to the days of diapers. I only comparatively recently learned that the low road was a reference to coming home in a coffin.
Gotta run. I'll be in Hampton before you.
.
Last week I scuffed the crystal of my watch, again. I rubbed it and managed to even out the opacity so that the whole face of the plastic digital timepiece was just that much worse than it was before I scuffed it again. Note to self, new watch being needed soonly. When time comes to replace the battery, don't. Hate to leave a watch -- or anything -- while it's still working, but there's such a thing as going too far, I guess.
Yesterday morning, my watch went off as usual at 6 am. It's my alarm clock, too, and I time my nap at work with it. With practiced clumsiness, I thrashed efficiently for the plastic button (ask me about metal buttons some time) that shuts off the alarm, only to find out that I was lying between the end parenthesis and the comma just then. It didn't shut off the alarm. Repeated pressing and unspoken curse words (Sarah said "dammit" the other day) availed similarly. Time alone shut off the alarm, the usual ten seconds, I guess.
When I got it to some light, it was frozen at 6:00 am, and none of its buttons would change that, so I took it as a sign and stopped at Target on my way in to work and invested twenty dollars in a new Coleman watch. Huge numbers, the biggest I've had on a watch yet, plus the same features as my previous watch. The days of the week are depicted on a sort of roller coaster chart. There's two ways to turn the light on -- shades of the well-wired house I grew up in! The buttons are plastic (okay, I had a watch with metal buttons, and it kept reverting to 12:00 1/1/01 or whatever its default was, and it turned out that the buttons were getting zapped by static electricity from the plant by the office door, and I resolved no more metal buttons), but they press a little too easily. I may have to concoct a little barrier from white glue to reduce accidental pressing. For now, I'm leaving the clear plastic over the crystal.
So far, so good. It wakes me up in the morning, or cues me to stop going back to sleep, whatever, and it's not loud enough to wake up the rest of the house (Sarah & Cathy). I can read those big, remedial-looking digits with minimal squinting. Right now it's telling me to go to work, in a tinny little voice that cuts off parts of words. I've already had my morning piano time, playing and re-playing "Loch Lomond," a piece that awakens whatever ancestral soul I have. It's one of my earliest memories, back to the days of diapers. I only comparatively recently learned that the low road was a reference to coming home in a coffin.
Gotta run. I'll be in Hampton before you.
.
