At 7:42, the alarm clock rings.
I turn it off without even looking at it, because it’s not my friend.
“Five more minutes.”
Twenty minutes pass and it rings again, because it knows that’s why we’re not friends. It ignores all my protests.
At 8:15, I decide I’ll have breakfast at the bar.
Then, as I get dressed, I think I don’t have time.
So I say to myself: “Oh well, tomorrow.”
I drink a glass of water and leave because I don’t even have time to make it at home.
I hear the voices of all the nutritionists peeping in, but I turn them off. Them too. Along with the alarm clock.
At 9:30 a.m., I open my computer.
My to-do list stares at me menacingly.
I choose an easy one, but I don’t like it, so I don’t even do that.
I text a friend: “We can’t meet today, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
She replies with a laughing emoji.
I’m not laughing so much. What’s so funny? Lucky you, who always have time for everything and manage to fit everything in.
At 11:12 a.m., my colleague asks me:
“Did you send that important email?”
“Yes… well, almost. I’ll send it after lunch.”
I won’t send it. I already know that, but then again, how can you work with a owl on your shoulder making you anxious as if we were on the starting block at the Olympics?
At 1:20 p.m., I heat up some frozen pasta in the break room.
I could have cooked something fresh and brought it with me, but… tomorrow.
I eat while looking outside, and the sun seems to have more energy than I do. It rises punctually every day.
But then again, that’s all it has to do. I could do that too if I only had one task.
At 3:47 p.m., the phone rings.
“Mom.”
Okay, I answer, distracting myself from doing whatever… I don’t even know what I was doing anymore.
“When are you coming to see me?”
“Soon, come on. Maybe tomorrow.”
We both half believe it. She doesn’t even scold me anymore, but this time I feel something in my stomach that… I don’t like.
At 6:05 p.m., I’ve just gotten home and I think I’ll go for a run.
I put on my sneakers, look up at the TV while sitting on the sofa, and exhale with all the heaviness of this day.
Then I take them off. The shoes.
“I’ll start tomorrow, better to rest today.”
At 8:14 p.m., I start a load of laundry.
“I’ll hang it up tomorrow.”
I could do it tonight, but what’s the big deal if I do it tomorrow morning?
At 10:39 p.m., I lie down in bed.
I look at the imaginary list in my head, still full of things to do.
There are so many that I don’t know where to start.
With the remote control in my hand, I think that maybe it’s not just laziness.
Maybe it’s fear of finding out what happens when I actually check everything off.
I close my eyes and don’t even turn on the TV.
And I ask myself: if I always put things off, what am I really waiting for?
Why can’t I get anything done?
Maybe because finishing means putting an end to something, giving it meaning, sorting it out…
Because…“Tomorrow is the favorite refuge of those who don’t want to decide today.”
