10:27

Is it unusual to always (twice a day at most, of course) see your birthday date flash on the clock? For the past week now, I have looked at the clock at exactly 10:27 at least once if not both times a day. At first, it was kind of neat. Now, I’m not even fazed and actually sort of peeved when it happens. It’d be different if it was some mysterious number with which I had no apparent association. Like, 4:29. Or 11:01. Then it might be fun. I would start playing the lotto. I would see what letters corresponded with each number in the alphabet… Like, D:BI. Or K:A. Maybe rearrange them. BID! Then I’d get to figure out what I was supposed to bid on. I would ask my parents if 4/29 had any significance in our family, get to uncover some intriguing piece of history. But, no. I see 10:27 daily, and instantly think My Birthday, My Birthday, oh look, My Birthday again.

When the first thing I can think to write about involves digits on a clock and how often I see them, it’s easy to say there’s not much new going on. Luckily, the head baker’s back at work, and I can rest a little. It’s good to have her back. It got kind of lonely, a tad eerie even, by myself there. *cue Celine Dion singing "All By Myself."* The ice machine would go off at least three times late at night while I was working. It sounded like someone was wheeling a squeaky cart around. I jerked my head every time and peered out from my baker’s door to where people sort the fresh produce all day.

Mostly, I listened to two cds Bobbi left: Supertramp and The BeeGees. Every now and again, I flipped to FM and boogied to pop music. I hid behind the proofer a few mornings in a row (when other workers were there picking through raspberries) trying to win the free massages Star 104 kept giving away. My back was so sore at this point, and a spa massage sounded so glorious. Despite my high-speed redialing, I didn’t win.

The only thing really new in my life is my recent spat with dad. He wanted me to ride with him in “Roar on the Shore.” They predicted 3-5000 cyclists would be riding in this parade. I can’t stand the noise that emanates from one motorcycle. I am not a biker fanatic. I don’t know any of dad’s biker “pack” he was leading from the nearby Country Fair. I arrange flowers, make cards, and like Disney Princess things. So, for probably the first time in my life, I was honest with him about why I didn’t want to go. It just wasn’t my thing, I tried to say as kindly as I could. But, as expected, he got upset and ended the phone conversation on a sour note.

It would have been a lot easier if I lied about why I wasn’t going, but I didn’t. I think sometimes I just have to do things that might not please everyone around me, but they are things that won’t have me feeling guilty or insincere in the long run. Honesty can be murky, but it’s essential when I think about authentic living, about my relationship with the world around me that deserves my sincerity, no matter how trying or disappointing it is at times.

Well, I already saw 10:27 twice today, so I guess I can head off safely. Maybe the trick is going to bed before 10:27, and rising after. I’ll have to try that tomorrow.