You get a different perspective on clock-watching when you work at home. When I was an office drone, I would check my watch (so that no one would see me craning my neck to look at the clock on the wall). I would check more and more frequently as it got closer to quitting time. Some days I would actually do some work just to make the time pass more quickly.
Even though I liked school, I was a clock watcher there, too. It wasn't so much that I was waiting for the hour to end. It was more that I wanted to know how far along in the hour we were. Minute hand straight down, halfway through. Ten minutes to go means to start wrapping up whatever I'm working on, or listen for the signal that the lecture is winding down. It's a form of control, I think, to have a clear idea of where in time's spectrum I'm standing.
It's also an analog thing. I grew up in the pre-digital era, and to me an hour is the minute hand sweeping once around the clock face. It's an ever-changing pie chart, a graphic representation of the passing of the minutes. It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me, means something different from At the tone the time will be 2:45, exactly. You lose a little perspective when time becomes a matter of numerals in a display, because it goes by a second or a minute at a time. The sweep second hand is a beautiful thing.
In my current situation, there is no quitting time. I'm already home. Most often, I don't even want to know what time it is. If I look up and see it's noon I might be tempted to do something that's bad for my diet. If I see it's two, I might want to check in on General Hospital and see if Luke and Laura are back together yet. If it's three, I'll wish it was four. Better not to know the time than to have the time control you.
On most days I just keep working, not even thinking of looking at the clock. Today I glanced up and saw that it was six thirty, and I was crushed. I had worked away the whole day, plus a couple of hours that I could have used for my own purposes. I hate when that happens.