In the mornings, I wake to a car in the distance moving closer and then hear the brakes as it navigates the corner outside my home.
"Bloody Hell" I think. " Another day." I curse that driver and all those to follow. If they hadn't left their homes that morning, I wouldn't have to hear them and I wouldn't have that affirmation in my ear that the machine is starting again. I turn to my pillow, hitting it, disappointed that my wish hasn't come true yet again. The machine gains momentum as people scuttle past my kitchen window. Dogs start barking and children start crying. "Just one day" I think.
One day, when everyone can stay under their duvet's and do nothing. No need to shave. No need to wear a suit. No need for mascara. No need to pick up the phone to call in sick. No need for appointments, or catching trains. No need for shopping, washing or paying bills. Everyone can just stay home and walk to their kitchen's in their P.J's with one sock half-off.
I do hate those cars, like little blood platelets in the machines veins, making it alive.
The nearest we get to the machine stopping is when it snows. Like an Alka-Seltza or milky soothing fluid to calm the engine, a crystal crusted merry-go-round frozen in time.
There's something much more delicious when everyone is off together, as though you can feel the camaraderie or borg like union. Everyone stays home, half riddled with guilt, relaying your 'snow story' in your mind that you'll tell your boss, but so, so happy, as the white flakes whizz past your window, and you look out just to make sure it's still 10inches thick and there's no way anyone could walk in that!
Heaven.
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