There was a time when I loved cuckoo clocks. I remember the first one my parents got was from our trip to Switzerland. The little blue bird popping out was cute and something to show off to my cousins when they would come home. We would each count the number of cuckoos to make sure the clock wasn’t fooling us. Fast forward to today. I hate the darn thing. Maybe it’s because I’ve become such a big time- waster that the reminder of it slipping past me in the form of those annoying ‘cuckoo’ declarations is just too much to bear.  The worst of it is at night, when I’m trying to sleep.  Nothing can be as frustrating it as tossing and turning in bed and just when I’m about to fall into a sleep-coma , I hear- ‘Cuckoo! Cuckoo!Cuckoo!’ Then my senses are awakened with the stress that I only have a few hours left to will I make it through tomorrow if I don’t get my 8 hours (yes I know the average person needs 6 but I am an above-average slob)…how long will it take to fix my sleep-cycle.. hey did I forget to put the left-over curry in the fridge? This starts a landslide- what else did I forget to do today.  I don’t know what time I end up sleeping.  I wake up the next day, sitting with my toast, glaring at the clock and cursing the little plastic bird in it that stole my sleep last night.

Yes I know, I could take it down but I won’t. Maybe it’s because it’s a reminder of the little girl who found pleasure in something as simple as a cuckooing clock. Or maybe it has to be there to give me the kick in the butt that I need to realize that time is running out.  Whatever it maybe, that stupid bird is here to stay till the clock’s Swiss craftsmanship eventually wears out.