I have risen and finished a hellish exercise at the gym and am waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. I’m waiting for the beeping that let’s me know that my morning is about to begin. But instead of the glorious sound letting my know my black elixir is done I hear the joyous sounds of laughter, splashing, and shenanigans*. This has me angry. I’m angry for multiple reason the first of which is that it is a Tuesday.

Tuesday is the most meaningless day of the week. At best, you can describe Tuesday as being halfway there to being halfway there. Which is ridiculous. Mondays blow but at least you’ve kick started the long haul towards Friday. Fridays…enough said. Wednesday you’re halfway. Thursday… “well let’s drink some because not even a hangover can ruin a friday.” Tuesday = pointless.

*Shenanigans - Fun times that I am not involved in.

I looked down at my keyboard today and the "delete" button made me pretty upset.  It made me angry because it's pretty much done away with the notation "P.S." at the bottom of letters. There is no more "damn I forgot to write this sentence before I wrote "Sincerely, Sean" because you can just move your cursor back up and add it in. It's not right.

Then I got mad at the mouse pad. When a sentence is written it marks a specific thought in time. No technology should....

Hang on, the coffee is done. 

Alright, no technology should have the right to go back and forth through time. It's too powerful.

It was thoughts like these that got me thinking, as thoughts have a tendency to do. More and more mental gloom covered my brain as I went through all the changes like the dismissal of the "P.S." Cell phones doing away with the passing of notes in a classroom. Emails doing away with the average letter. . . 

Then again, I had so many typo's in this entry that had it not been for the time traveling cursor and the "delete key" this probably wouldn't make much sense at all. Also, the after taste of licking an envelope closed and the potential of a paper cut on your tongue does make clicking a "send button" pretty tempting.

P.S. - Ah, who am I kidding? I added my P.S. thought back in the second paragraph. 

The battery on my watch has been dead for over a month now. I know this because the watch shows the date. It currently has been sitting on the number 27 since the month of May. At the time of the battery's passing it was 3:02 pm (6:02 EST). While I've said multiple times that I need to change the battery, I've yet to get around to it. I think I'm having trouble grieving. 

The watch, unfortunately, suffered in its passing. There were times (no pun intended) when the second hand clicked back and forth between the 45 and 46th second of the 3:02 minute. I watched, helplessly, as it struggled to give me the correct time of day. Finally, it clicked its last clack and stopped for good. 

For awhile I kept the time at 3:02 as a reminder to the great times we shared. Every 5:00 pm when I'd get a little giddy because I could leave work. Every morning when I grabbed at it and it reassured me I had a few minutes left to snooze. Recently though I've moved the hands to be pointing at 5:00 pm. It was our favorite time and reminded us of the catchy Jimmy Buffett tune "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere".

Even from grave the watch still looks out for me. I'm not what you would call a people person. Put quite honestly, strangers scare me. However, now that it cannot tell the time anymore I can rudely ignore strangers when they pass me and inquire "You got the time pal?" If they press on with "Excuse me. You got the time?" I can reply "No I don't because my poor watch has died and it's only been a month! Thanks for reminding me you insensitive jerk!" 

However, while this is certainly a tribute to a great friend, it's also a final goodbye. I think the watch would have liked me to move on. We had fantastic memories together and I will continue to sport my tan lines without shame, because they were given to me by you my good friend. I'll replace your battery and breathe new life into your mechanisms so that your glow in the dark hands might move once more. You might be a Fossil by name, but you will be remembered for your glory days.