Almost two decades deep into the exponentially increasing digital heights of the twenty-first century, I still wear an analog watch. I wake, sit on the edge of my bed, rub my eyes, and reach over to strap time to my wrist. This ticking machine keeps me partially bound to the illusion that the act of wearing a time ruler grants me some measure of control over its domain. With it, I can confidently push to be “on time” to meet my obligations or accomplish my desires. But the reality is that even as I press and discipline myself to be on time, I never truly am. Time is actually on me.