It's 8 o' clock on the alarm in front of the TV. I don't want to go up. It's time to go. [He asks her if we're going.] "No!" It's 8:00 a.m., but it's actually 8:00 p.m. Finally rather 20:26 if we are to believe the big pointer which has just exceeded the number 5. The clock on my left has stopped. "I miss my husband." The clock to my left is probably out of order. In any case it is surely not 6:37. Or would it be 6:37 ? Unless it says 12:37. Would it be 00:37 ? It gets dark so early in winter. It's like that. And anyway, I can't see the pointers very well anymore. "You know, I was born in 1937. So I've seen things happen. But now I'm alone. Alone with the television." [The news of November 6, 2020 tells them that they must once again respect safety distances, and wear masks while the second wave submerges them in hydro-alcoholic gel.] I can't stand the distance. "I miss my family you know... But now I'm alone. That's how it is ! Alright, let's go! Let's go!" [He takes her by the ribs and counts to three.] 1, 2, 3 ! After a silent and unstable effort, I drag my walking frame towards the stairs. To me it's not the other way around... Surely it must depend on how you read the moments. Because anyway, I can't even sew anymore because of my eyesight. And I no longer have the strength. I pass the clock to the right of the stairs, which broke down a year ago. No one came to fix it. They tell me I'm exaggerating, but I'm sure it's only been 3 months since it stopped. I look at it briefly. 1:38. He has really funny schedules this young man who accompanies me to bed. It probably stopped in the middle of the night, or at the start of the afternoon : it surely stopped while I was sleeping. Sometimes I would like to stop as this clock has dragged its handicapped pointer to an irreparable rest. So I get on my mechanical seat on the 1st floor. The floor is surprisingly empty, as usual. I miss my husband. I go through my room with the double bed, in which only one spinning pointer remains : me. The clock then indicates 9:26PM, if we are to believe the big pointer which has just passed the number 5. It is getting dark late in the spring, and my shutters are already closed. It's amazing how time seems so long and so short at the same time. I no longer measure it to prepare for bed. The numbers no longer make sense. When it's 8:00, it's never really 8:00 here... Anyway, some clocks stopped along the way, and it wasn't possible to bring them back to life. A bit like the memories we forget. Only the object remains, which remains for a long time. It's not really 8:00 here, and the dead batteries have probably put the clocks in my house out of adjustment little by little. Surely it's not really 8:00 here...


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