Every morning I indulge in an infinitely complicated and pointless ritual.
Where the note book is taken out with caution, so is the pen; the keyboard fingered, the pencil caressed, carefully lined up in the stand. Coffee is drunk, or not drunk. The window blind opened, closed or adjusted. The chair is raised, lowered, moved in, moved out or even replaced. The new funny looking spots on the neck is carefully inspected in the bathroom mirror; the scantily clad girl in the desktop of the colleague seated next is speculatively regarded.
Time moves on, and so does the pointless ritual, until the last moment can no longer be postponed. It’s time to start writing…
Nice and meaningful
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