The Rush of the Days
* Racing against dawn, my alarm blares its tireless tirade. I dig under my pillow and push snooze, registering somewhere in a back niche of my mind that it is probably a bad decision. I am too comfortable to care. When I finally persuade myself otherwise, the alarm has rang for the tenth, fifteenth, twentieth time in five minute intervals. It is the worst type of nagging – the self-inflicted kind, the kind that works only after the deadline has passed.
The morning routine never changes. Breakfast, if I feel like being healthy.
The day begins.
The commute to work is either too long or too short. The lights don’t turn green when I’m late or red when I need to check on something. Before I know it, I’m stuck behind a truck that’s going a tiny fraction of the speed limit, and I resign myself to the inevitable pattern of morning traffic.
Eventually, I find myself thrust into the bustle of work. The general excitement of accomplishing tasks that, together, amount to something permeates the air like a patchy cloud. The lingering holes are filled instead with ceaseless thoughts, none of which have ever done me any good: I’m hungry, why is it so hot in here, when will I get a chance to do this or that.
The hours fly by fast when they’ve been forgotten, but creep along when they know they’re being watched – a sardonic sort of observer effect. A break for lunch squeezes itself haphazardly in there somehow, surrounded by various assignments that stack up like a pile of legos.
Work ends. I drive home, and eat either on the way or after I arrive. The cat wants to play, but always longer than I intend to keep him company. I lay flat on my stomach and catch up on the goings-on of internet. More time passes. The nightly routine also never changes. I lay still in bed, and allow the rush of the day to die down. My thoughts still fly around at terminal velocity. I try valiantly to push the residual noise out of my head.
But there. A moment before sleep —
My mind stills. I think about what is important to me.
My dreams and passions. The simple moments. Those I care about. The progress of humanity on this swiftly spinning Earth.
My consciousness slips away like the final rosy hues of sunset, and I let go.