WATCHING THE CLOCK; parts 2 and 3

the goal was to be there at four when the gallery started its free thursday hours and watch as much of "the clock" as we could before it closed at eight o'clock. but, unfortunately, our stylist couldn't get us in until exactly then, and, admittedly, the confusion at the salon the day before had been half our fault. (when i was in the chair she said she had a surprise for me and took out some waxing strips to do my neck, but i suspect that she did it more to save time than as a courtesy. apparently we were all watching the clock that afternoon. i should have said something to stop her after the rash i'd gotten from my last waxing but i didn't. in the interest of time, perhaps.) then, after the both of us were finished, it made more sense for us to go pick up our third on the south side instead of having her meet us at the wexner center -- and then we were all hungry. so we didn't sit down in the screening room at the gallery until six forty-five, which, all things considered, wasn't that bad. on screen, the storefront shutters were going down and the people were sitting down to eat. (it would have probably been excruciating if we hadn't taken the extra time to have something ourselves.) nicolas cage was waking up to have a cigarette...maybe, although that might actually have been part of part one. unfortunately, maybe, it all blends together when you spread the twenty-four hours of "the clock" across so many more. then the kindly security woman kicked us out -- over-promptly at seven fifty-six. fortunately, it turns out that my second has a membership to the gallery which gets him free admission for both himself and a guest. but "the clock" had just been part of the plan for thursday, and anyway, that day it had turned out that we were three. plus, we still had time. and on saturday we had all night at the gallery, but as it turned out we were caught up in the game until midnight. then i can't say what happened for the following two hours -- or maybe i just won't -- but we didn't get to the gallery until two fifteen. (two thirty?) we made sure to eat (although and where all this time was katherine hepburn? was she there that night, or was that another time? or, maybe it was all three of them. from two fifteen (or two thirty) until four in the morning, watching "the clock" is strange. a sleepless night on screen is sympathetically consolatory, even for the knowledge that the people you're watching must be going through the same desperate circles and awful inquietudes as you've experienced in those sleepless nights of your own. more or less alone in the dark, you appreciate that you're not alone. then you're just happy for a cab.

and then three days later you're awake, sleepless, watching the clock, because even though you should think of the night as an opportunity -- that it's nice, for better or for worse, that right now all you have is time, and it's yours to do with however you please -- instead all you can do is watch the clock. then you're just happy for a xanax, and you accept your giving in because you remember that, at least, the least you can do for yourself is remember that, appropriately shot and edited, what's happening right now could be art.