The seconds hand on the clock invades my privacy. It shatters my peace. That never ending sound slowly sets my nerves on fire as I listen to its beat.
I watch the slender hand move slowly around that drab looking face.
I sit in my typist’s chair aware that it is playing games with me. On and on it goes, forever persistent and never stopping. One second, two seconds, three…
Looking away, I try to dive into something, anything, to keep me busy. For some time I think I’m winning, but my gaze is drawn slowly back to that nasty, moving piece of torture. Is it possible that only two minutes has passed? It’s not true, it can’t be! It has to be longer than that.
My eyes become heavy. The ticking of the clock is luring me into another world. I will resist. I know I am strong. It can’t have me, I won’t allow it. The enemy forges closer and closer, but I remain firm.
But my gaze cannot resist the temptation. I look again. Five minutes! Liar!
And so the first day back at work went…on and on and on…and on. If a clock face was designed to fade a little whenever we looked at it, I would have had a blank circular disc on the wall in my office by the end of the day (and maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing). But the seconds hand carried on with its steady march and, unfortunately, it will be waiting for me tomorrow morning.
How boring the day was. How slowly it dragged its feet. How I wish I had a holiday to look forward to. I hate the first day back at work.
Tick, tick, tick.