Race Against Time

The cold-water splash of my alarm clock signals the start – I’m out of bed in a flash, but time is ahead, hiding behind the toothpaste and pushing it playfully to the floor.

I curse as I race onto the landing; I’m already two minutes behind but in hot pursuit.

Time swooshes down the banister in front of me as I take the stairs two at a time and career into the kitchen.

A cluster of badly behaved seconds peek out from behind the butter, while their friends jam the bread in the toaster.

Grasping for my coat in the closet my adversary twists the sleeves together, putting me further behind.

Rain slows the traffic.

Drip, tock, tick, drop.

Wiper blades clear the way and I watch a stream of lost moments slide down the windscreen and disappear from view.

Arriving at the office breathless after a neck and neck sprint up the stairs (I lost), eight hours of hide and seek awaits me.

Time cheats.

I know it does.

We all do.

But we still play the game.

Lunchtime already? I sneak a sandwich at my desk, hoping to close the gap while time takes a break.

It doesn’t. I don’t.

Scampering downhill through the afternoon time twists, turns and taunts me as I throw everything into a final frantic dive over the five o’clock finish line.

We’re not speaking.

On the drive home I avoid eye contact with the clock. I will never win this mismatched game.

Sprawled on the sofa, the TV soaks up the evening hours and chases a few errant minutes around the dark corners of the lounge.

At bedtime the metronome plod of my feet on the stairs marks the rhythm of the tune we both dance to.

I pull up the covers, my nemesis smiling in the dark beside me.

Lying. Waiting. Watching.

Tomorrow, we race again.