The Long Spin

Today is an experiment, so please bear with me.  This is an idea I dreamed up to try my hand at some fiction-ish writing.  I call it “A Day In The Life…” and it’s a series I hope to continue that gives a day’s worth of perspective from someone or something.  It’s completely made up, although I’m sure we can all relate to the subject of today’s post from time to time.  To set the stage, this story basically follows a gentleman through his workday and the turmoil he feels about his life.  He isn’t named and it’s basically a third person observation of his life by someone who kind of knows his thoughts.  Anyway, I hope you like it and thanks for reading!

It felt as though he went to sleep just minutes ago, yet here he is laying in bed listening to the incessant shrieking of his alarm.  It happens like this every morning.  He should know to expect it, but it’s never that simple.  He hits snooze.  Nine minutes later he hits it again.  He finally accepts the inevitable as he rolls out of bed with sleep laden eyes open just enough to hopefully not run into a wall or stub his toe on the mess that is strewn across the floor.

He finally stumbles his way into the bathroom and reaches into the shower, fumbling around for the knob to get the shower just hot enough to provide solace from the day that is about to pass.  The ritual of his morning shower is his last bastion of peace and tranquility before being bombarded with the sounds and stresses of the day that will rain harder than the torrent form the shower.  He bathes in the warm comfort of the streaming water with his eyes still closed, a last ditch effort to impose his will on the day.  It’s a fruitless effort, but he eventually emerges from the shower a little more awake and slightly more prepared to venture from the quiet confines of his house.

The work day always starts the same.  He arrives at least fifteen minutes late.  He doesn’t mind though.  I guess he figures for every minute he’s late it’s one more minute he doesn’t have to spend at work.  First things first, check the personal email.  Work email can wait.  Check the stock market, check his favorite blogs, check his email again, check his stocks again, check his email again.  He loses count of how many times this routine repeats itself throughout the day.

He gazes out the window longingly.  It’s another beautiful day.  A day ripe for the picking.  One of those precious few days that can actually be described as pure and simple perfection.  A light breeze, not a cloud in the sky, that ideal temperature that feels neither hot nor cold.  But here he sits, a captive in the brick and mortar walls of his office.  Always separated by no less than a window from the glory of the outdoors.  He remembers a time when he could enjoy days like this.  So many of those days he squandered away on silly things.  If he could only go back, he would be early to rise just to bask in the beauty of each and every perfect day.

Times have changed.  The opportunity to seize the priceless joy found in those rare days is gone.  He snaps back to reality.  He comes to the bitter realization that by the time he gets out of work it will nearly be dark.  There will be no time to enjoy one of these critically few days that come around each year.  Inside his office the air is stagnant and suffocating.  The fluorescent lights clash with the natural light from outside creating a clear line at the window that might as well be bars on a cell.  There is no beauty in his office.  Chained to his desk like a lion in a cage who knows well enough that greatness awaits him if only he could find some way to get outside of these thick and imposing walls.

He turns back to the task at hand.  He stares down at the work on his desk.  The work stares back mocking his childish and naive wishes of a fate greater than this tiny little bubble that is his existence.  He’s apathetic and finds no motivation at hand.  Just like yesterday, he ponders if this excruciating labor can be put off until tomorrow… again.  Begrudgingly he begins to work.  At least he can accomplish one thing today to possibly relieve some of the pressure building in the back of his mind.  Then the phone rings.

He stares at the number, trying to remember why it looks familiar.  Is this somebody he needs to talk to?  Is it really that important?  He ignores it.  They will leave a voicemail.  He won’t check it until tomorrow.  He may even wait another day after that to return the call.

He looks at the clock.  It’s finally getting late in the afternoon, nearly time to escape from the dungeon he has created out of his office.  He looks back at his work.  This time it looks poisonous, too dangerous to touch or consider at this time of day.  He decides it can wait until tomorrow.

His hour of salvation finally arrives.  Three minutes until the appointed time to cease working.  Close enough.  He sits in the elevator in silence pondering where the time escaped to today.  Another wasted day.  Another unproductive day he demonized into something much more hideous and unbearable than was necessary.  His head hurts and his body aches from slouching in his chair for so many endless hours.

He begins his commute home wondering how to put the final measly hours of the day to good use.  Will he squander them like the bygone beautiful days of his youth?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Although many days feel hopeless he still manages to squeeze joy from the fleeting moments in the time between work and slumber.  He realizes this is what life is about.  This realization is what forces him from the comfort of his bed where he could remain hidden from the world each day.  This realization is the life force that fuels him and allows him to keep his head above water.

And then the day ends.  Eventually he must succumb to the grasp of sleep.

Once again, there he lays, listening to the shriek of his alarm.