This morning the vast internet machinery heaved the minute hand of an invisible clock forwards another minute, and filled the bedroom with one of the London radio stations. After a few minutes drifting between asleep and awake, my body clock finally gained some traction, and swung legs out of the bedclothes – planting feet on the floor below, ready to begin another day.
There’s a tremendous sense that each day has become “another day” at the moment – unravelling the future like a worn carpet I’ve seen before. There’s a flickering urge to somehow make today better than yesterday, but I’m not quite sure how to go about it, or what “better” really means.
While writing, the clock continues ticking. The planet continues revolving. Carpets continue to unfurl – mapping different directions the day might take. It seems that indecision is not an option – if we retrace steps, the junctions we return to are not as they once were.
If only the world had a reset button from time to time. A chance to start again – to re-invent the recent past. Of course no such thing exists, so we make the best of our situation, we look forwards, and we continue putting one foot in front of the other – marching in step with the ticking of the clock.
What if we could weave our own carpet though – construct a new path – choosing our destiny rather than leaving it to fate? Does fate exist, or is it a convenient construct to soften the consequences of indecision?
I think I’ll continue forwards, and shake my fist towards the machinery of the universe from time to time – pretending I have some say in the way my story unfolds – pretending I might introduce at least a little order among the chaos and mayhem.