It's been a year to the day. 365 multiplied by 24 equals 8706 hours wasted. Again.
"If I’d just use the time I spend filling up daytimers and making to-do lists on the things I actually want to do, I’d probably have achieved something worthwhile by now." Her mostly white, barely calico cat just stares at her then yawns and goes back to sleep.
Every night, she lies on the couch and imagines a different tomorrow. One where she wakes up and goes for a run; bathes and styles her hair. Brews a cuppa, reads a blog, enjoys a danish. All before catching the bus that takes her downtown to a job she loves.
Every morning, she rolls off the couch, races to the bathroom, and brushes her teeth in the shower. She hides her hair in a scrunchy and speeds down the street to a job she hates. The only thing that makes her day tolerable is her cubicle buddy.
Every Friday he brings her a small coffee and piece of fruit.
It isn’t until she flops into her chair that she realizes he isn’t there for their ceremonious we-made-it-through-another-week high five. She stands up to watch for him and celebrate beating him to work for the very first time. Instead she sees their boss approaching. He looks more unhappy than usual.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Chris was hit by a car this morning while he was riding his bike to work.”