Freaked! I Woke Up To!

Replacing the band felt almost trivial at first, like swapping a shoelace or changing a light bulb. A simple fix. A minor errand. I did it without ceremony, without expectation. I popped the old strap free and set it aside, a little surprised by how soft and tired it felt in my hand now that I was paying attention. The new one was smooth, firm, cool to the touch. It clicked into place with a quiet certainty.

That was the moment everything shifted.

The watch sat differently on my wrist right away. Lighter. Smoother. Quieter. There was no subtle grit beneath my thumb, no faint drag when I moved. The low level irritation I had stopped noticing was suddenly gone, and its absence felt almost loud. No more shavings on the sheets. No more faint debris on my desk. No more background discomfort I had unconsciously learned to tolerate.

What surprised me most was how quickly my body registered the change. I had not realized how much I was compensating. How often I adjusted my wrist. How often I brushed at my skin. How many tiny reactions had become routine. Comfort returned so seamlessly that it felt like something had been restored rather than replaced.

Those curls had been telling a simple story all along. This part of your life is worn out. It has served its purpose. It has absorbed the friction of countless days, the push and pull of habit, the pressure of movement and sweat and time. It is tired in a way that cleaning cannot fix.

And yet I had kept it.

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