I don't wear a watch.
I gave it up a few years ago when my leather wristband wore through. I put my watch away in a drawer and made vague plans to order a replacement. And I never did—I got used to the naked left wrist, and didn't miss catching the watch on corners and edges.
As for timekeeping, I've fallen prey to a modern affliction: I look at my phone.
I say affliction because far too often a phone pick-up to check the time ends up being more than that. My phone is a black hole of attention, gobbling up obscene amounts of it.
This past week, I didn't bring my phone down to the beach.
I didn't want to risk the drop into the sand, to be honest. (I struggle enough keeping my charging port clean; I don't need an extra challenge.)
A fringe benefit of the beach sans time piece?
You end up on event time.
I rarely knew what time it was down on the beach—and that disconnect is something I'll miss over the next weeks, with my displaced phone no doubt back in my pocket for the most part.
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