Why I can’t have nice things
Its 5am. Joey is standing outside his house on the asphalt, stretching out his spine in anticipation of his run. He selects Outdoor run on his Apple watch, it dutifully starts counting down, 3, 2, 1 and then… it goes dark. What the… I take a closer look. The whole face of the watch has just popped off and is semi-dangling from the housing. The watch is dead. I stand there, perplexed.
Sadly, the first thing I think of is how this has just completely stuffed up my ‘perfect month achievement’ award.
Then I think how sad it is that ‘THAT’ is my first reaction.
I take the watch off, shove it my post box and go running.
Its a good run.
At least I think it is. It feels like one, even if I don’t have any empirical evidence to back up my hunch.
I suppose there are several ways I could interpret this event. Most clear to me is that the god(s)* of quantifiable self, hate me.
*I’m not sure if this a monotheistic god or a polytheistic pantheon so I make allowances for plurality.
Briefly I wonder what I might have done that’s annoyed them. Its a fairly exhaustive list of sins, strikes and misdemeanors…. difficult to narrow it down to just one category. Could be anything.
I imagine Seneca would have taken his Apple watch and smashed it on a rock, just to prove he didn’t need it. (Maybe) Although more likely is that he had previously negatively visualized his Apple watch arbitrarily failing. And so he was mentally prepared for the loss of an achievement award.
Things I should have anticipated.
If only I weren’t The worst Stoic ever… then things would go better for me.