Friday, 20 July 2012

Five minutes

I try to urinate every hour. Usually this lasts from 56 past to 57 past the hour. My bladder knows when it is time to go, at 50 past it is getting prepared, by 54 past it is positively bursting. In the izakayas of Tokyo my name is called aloud for its slow steady stream.

In these times my life is compartmentalised into five minute windows. Sometimes I cook eggs, mostly I make toast. If I'm feeling daring I might run to the sp├Ątkauf (the corner store), but a queue there causes the mission to buy snacks to be abandoned. If I'm feeling organised I will eat cold Vietnamese takeaway food that I bought earlier that day, giving a rueful look to my broken microwave.

At midnight I start to wonder if I will finish work before the good kebab shop closes. By 1:30 I know that only the crap one will still be open. At weekends there is the late night bakery and one can always walk in search of falafel. On a good night in the summer the birds begin to sing. When the sunlight starts peeking through I know I am up late enough to probably be making some money.

When playing online poker tournaments you receive a five minute break every hour. At the moment I am in the United States where playing online poker is illegal. Therefore I cannot work.

My life is now composed of hours comprising 60 minutes rather than five, but somehow I achieve less.

The sense of urgency is replaced by inertia. The sense focus replaced by a muddy confusion.

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