He woke up on a Tuesday morning and realised that he was late for work. Not late like ‘holy shit, it’s 10 am and I’ve missed a meeting’ late. Real life is not that dramatic you know. He was late by his ideal and a very ambitious wake up time, understandably so, because he missed his ideal ‘go to bed and sleep’ time, by a couple of hours. Sigh! His smart phone really makes him do dumb things.
He isn’t known to make great decisions and he goes to sleep again, because that’s how he competes with his failures, big or small. It’s 10 am and now he is late for real.
He does what he does everyday, miss his exercise and breakfast so he can later crib about his not-so-healthy lifestyle taking long drags of the cancer stick. He takes great pleasure in helping irony write itself.
He sits for hours in front of a computer and stands with his head down looking at the portable screen. He is more wired to the word and less connected to himself. He types HAHAHA with a straight face and sends emoticons when he runs out of words. He leaves office early like he has to be somewhere, drives his car through the same roads, listening to the same music, going past the same houses, sheltering almost the same thoughts he had yesterday… he reaches the same destination – the place he calls home.
Wait, he just lived his yesterday again and it looks hauntingly familiar to the day before that. He lives just one day, again and again. He is a victim of routine. He wonders how did he come this far and what he has become while scrolling for answers over the internet, finding solace with other victims; strangers he can empathise with. People who are like him – stuck, confused and capable of so much more.