He considered a title

It was getting close to 1 o’clock when sleepily he checked the time on his phone for the third or fourth time.  He should get up if he wanted to make anything at all of the day.  He hadn’t gone to sleep until sometime after 3 in the morning (currently the standard), so felt justified that this had given him at least close to eight hours in bed.  Last night he had considered the possibility of getting up for one of the morning services whilst also knowing that the chances of this happening were slim to none.  And sure enough.

He brushed his teeth and dressed quickly, then wandered around the corner for what he thought of as his morning flat white (never mind when he actually left the house).  If his friend was working at the café he would greet her with a cheerful, “Good morning!” regardless of the time; frequently in the early-to-mid afternoon.  The biggest problem with getting there after midday is that they were no longer serving breakfast rolls, so he would have to think of something else to have for breakfast.  Which was a problem because thinking about food was so much effort.  And then he (probably) would have to prepare it.  Time!  Time was a heavy burden.  There was so much of it, and also so little.

Home again, he settled in front of the computer and ate a banana while checking various social media and trying to listen to music.  Trying, because he started with one thing then stopped that to watch a video, then remembered a new album he wanted to check out before purchasing.  He was about to go back to the first thing he had been listening to when he noticed it had started to rain.  He could just hear it over the music, and peering over the top of his monitor and through the lace curtain he could see that, yes, the road was gleaming wetly.  He paused the music and decided, instead, to just listen to the rain and knit some more of his scarf.  He was coming so close to finishing but he kept procrastinating so it had dragged out longer than necessary.  He was ready to finish and move on to another thing.  Maybe a cardigan?  Probably just another scarf.

The rain pattered gently, and there was the soft clicking of the bamboo needles.  The heater by his side took the chill out of the air, yet he could still feel a certain coolness around him.  A sensation of the awareness of being alive and in this moment took him by surprise; a wave of tingles rippled across his skin and was gone again.  Amazing.

As he continued to knit in the relative silence, he realised he had space for his thoughts.  Usually he knitted and kind of half watched a show on Netflix.  But in the quiet his thoughts started to run free.  It felt good.

Coming to the end of the colour block he was working on he realised it was time to start getting ready to leave the house.  He noticed going into the bathroom that the mirror was steamed up indicating that someone else had showered recently.  “Great!” he thought. “I live with a cave troll who never leaves the house, yet chooses to use up the hot water right before I need to go out like I do on the regular.”  Sure enough, half way through washing himself the water started to cool.  “This would never happen if I were a hermit.”

Returning to his room he decided to start writing an epic piece about his eventful day.  He liked to think of it as finding the profound in the mundane. “It was getting close to 1 o’clock…”

He considered a title for the piece: MISANTHROPE SEEKS MANIC PIXIE DREAM TROPE.  It didn’t quite fit.  And now he was running late.


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