It’s now 4:49 (eleven mintues to go, before the entire realm of four o’clock slips away) and I have spent a lot of it wondering if four o’ clock is the universal hour of self-loathing. There is the morning, the bright blue, the fresh air, the new. Then lunch, and high noon, a time for gun fights and bell-ringing. Slowly, the glamour of the morning fades and truns to the solidity of the afternoon. One o’clock is simple, and there is still plenty of time to get things done. Two o’clock is like two one o’ clocks put together, there is still hope and momentum and two o’clock. Three o’clock is when I used to get out of school so it can be a time for recess, a snack, regrouping and trying to gain enough inertia to make it through four o’clock.
But when four o’clock comes, it sits there like wednesday. In the middle. A hump to be trudged over.
It is the time that I start to wish I could be someone else for just an hour. Just to escape my skin and mind.
I am aggravated, tired, grumpy, sour as the daylight fades long. I am sick of being me and wish I could have a refreshing dose of 1 PM. And at the same time I am thinking about what is to come. Will I have enough energy to make it into the night?
Or will dinner leave me sated, and I will not need anymore?
4:56, four more minutes to go….