There is nothing that stresses me out more than being late, to the point of it being a psychological condition rather than a social habit. Even though I have improved in recent years I am convinced that I will eventually die of a heart attack induced by running late for something. When we travel David obsesses about all the little things like (1) where we're going to sleep, (2) when we're going to eat, and (3) what we're going to do. I only obsess about getting to the airport on time.
I never wear a watch because I am uncomfortable in jewelery and I spend most of my days in front of a computer with my cell phone nearby. Even in the absence of clocks I am uncannily good at estimating the time. But things are different when I am puttering around Farcical Farm -- whole hours slide by in what feels like 15 minutes. If I definitely need to be somewhere I keep my phone in my pocket, but it tends to get dirty and abused (even dirtier and more abused than it gets in everyday life). A big clock somewhere outdoors seems like the practical solution, but the thought of installing one makes me kind of sad.
However, it makes me very happy to let FFF readers know that Black Jack's Carol made it home from the hospital today. Welcome back Carol!