missing the point

Once not long ago I sat in my living room to drink the last of a well deserved bottle of booze. In the silence I noticed, as we often do in silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall opposite me. As I watched the second hand make its way passed the 3, the 6, and then the 10, I thought of you. I thought of the time we had left. I thought of the time I've wasted thinking about time. Then I thought about the time I've wasted thinking about the time I've wasted. The glass I was drinking from was half empty, so I drained it and threw it at the clock...I missed, but the glass exploded into a million pieces. I was so sure I had picked up every last shard by now, but every once in a while when I cross paths with the clock, a piece of glass that was hiding in the carpet sticks me in the foot. So I curse loudly and sit down to dig the shard out of my sole, and every time I look up at the clock and scream at it like it was the clock's fault you died....I guess it sort of was.