9- Body Clock

My watch was wrong. It was just outright wrong. It was a series of useless numbers on my wrist that bore no resemblance to the actual time. I got my watch specifically for the Peace Corps. I wanted a watch with a compass. Where most men have an innate infallible compass deep within the primordial recesses of their brain, I have a useless dusty lava lamp in mine. While in California, I had the oceans and the freeways to navigate off of, in Albania, without a sense of direction, I could only assume that I would wander off and be eaten by a bear the second day.

The point is; my watch has an altimeter, barometer, compass, stopwatch, a light, and yet on the plane to Munich, the time was as useful to me as a third elbow. Upon leaving California during daylight savings time, and arriving in Washington D.C. and subsequently sitting on a plane from D.C. to Munich, the time on my watch could not be farther from the actual truth. I decided to neglect changing it until; I finished my journey in Elbesan, Albania. This did not stop me from staring blankly at my wrist for several seconds every few moments, as if I could suss out the actual time, by squinting properly.

Time meant relatively little to me at this point. As far as I could tell it has been 2am on a Thursday morning for the last three weeks. My body shed the need for sleep like a snake wriggles out of its skin. On a long journey, little else matters besides getting where you’re going in one piece, without losing anything important. Time telescopes to become the pain in your feet or the sweat on your brow as you wrestle your overstuffed bag into the overhead compartment, knowing full well that everyone in the cabin is watching... and judging.

Sitting in the darkened cabin of my Lufthansa flight to Munich and punch drunk from lack of sleep and free airplane wine, my new friends Nick, and Ben, and I chattered in giddy whispers about the only thing that mattered, making it to Albania in one piece.

Another passenger drunkenly lumbered up to us, interrupting our conversation and chastised us with a diatribe of her own that went something like this:

“You all should go to sleep. You’re going to be fatigued when the plane lands, because you’re not asleep. That’s why you’re tired… from fatigue* you’ve got to watch out for your body clock,” She then stared vacantly at us and repeated the word “Body clock,” as if the repetition would lend legitimacy to her fictional chrono-vestiage.

We turned to her slowly, eyes bleary with fatigue. We mustered polite smiles, and stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, I was thinking something along the lines of:

“Lady, my body clock has been out the damn window for weeks. I haven’t gotten anything close to sleep since I can remember! The only thing that is allowing me to keep me from spontaneously combusting from fatigue and terror, is chatting AT AN INCREDIBLY REASONABLE VOLUME, with my new friends, coupled with the fact that True Grit is on the in flight movies! You’re fortunate that my friends and I have dedicated ourselves to peace and understanding, because if that was not the case we would surely throw you from this plane over Greenland! And we’ve given up two years of our lives to move to Albania! Albania! I’m going to Albania! AHHHHH! AHHHHH! AHHHH!!!!”

Instead we all dug deep within ourselves to find our inner boy scout, plastered a grin on our faces, and promised to keep it down. She then stumbled back to her seat and promptly passed out... for the good of her body clock. We turned reddened eyes to one another and giggled raggedly. I glanced at my watch for no reason. In California it was 5 P.M. any other week I would be teaching five year olds how to play improv games. I couldn’t wait to set my watch to Albanian time.


* OHHHHHHHH, you get tired from fatigue! I was wondering why that happened!