While I was on vacation, I broke my watch. I wish I could say it broke while I was doing something cool – like maybe I smashed it on a rock while hiking through the river, or maybe it slipped off my wrist while I was climbing a steep path up a cliff. But I am not that cool, and neither is my watch.

I was walking from the hotel pool to the elevator, heading up to my room. My hands were full, and rather than put on my watch to alleviate those full hands, I just carried it with the rest of my stuff. I dropped it on the elevator floor, and the back popped out. I haven’t yet been able to pop the back back in.

The worst thing, though, is that I’ve been wearing that watch for over two years now, and I can’t get used to life without it. I regularly find myself glancing down at my wrist to find out the date or the time, but there’s nothing there but a tan line around where my watch used to be.

I can’t stand it.