The bus I was riding scraped the shit out of a stop sign while making a turn. At every stop, panicked latecomers charged at the doors as they were about to closing. Cruising through an intersection we were nearly side swiped by a screaming fire engine.
I've started carrying around an old pocket watch, as sort of a good luck charm. I like the feel of it in my pocket. The battery has long since burned out. I suppose I could get a new battery inserted. But I'm not really interested in its ability to tell me the time of day. I just like the feel of it. I like fiddling with it. And I appreciate that it gives me subtle permission to dismiss the tyranny of ticking time. Time seems to slip, slip so quickly these days. Anxiety seems to show up and linger as the end of each week, the end of each month zooms along. This time-still pocket watch reminds me to chill the fuck out.