Time - Paper

I know that time is passing me by because I watch the numbers change on my watch, an oversized black thing that was an expensive technological marvel when I was ten but which now needs a blue rubber band hold the band together. It is equipped with alarms and timers and stopwatches and buzzers and other things I use only occasionally so as not to wear out the battery (which has lasted six years so far), and fortuitously it is shock resistant, or else my natural lack of grace would have reduced it to plastic oblivion long ago. It is set in 24 hour mode because that is the European way of doing things and because I decided in French class last year that I wanted to become familiar with what is really a more logical system. I write my time and my dates in this fashion as much to be different as to be logical; it is a little thing, but so is much of what we call life. On the weekend I will be busy with many little things, errands and service and shopping and housework and more lounging around and everything I did not do during the week, save only homework (unless I have a big project that I have already put off several weeks, which I might consider breaking routine for) which I will not start until I return from the meeting on Sunday at 18:30 or so. Then I will go to bed and I will wake up at 7:25 (less seven minutes) and I will go back to school, and Monday will drag, as Mondays often do, and I will go home and I will go to the meeting and I will go to sleep, and I will settle into the endless routine of classes and boredom and tests and busywork and procrastination. Then it will be Wednesday and I will be gone that afternoon and I will waste two hours of my evening and my life in Driver's Ed and when I finally get home I will have a scant hour to read the paper and catch up on all the loafing around and reading I missed that afternoon. Then it will be Thursday and I will go to school and come home and read the paper and one of the several magazines I subscribe to...