The first of the day.

I notice the bitterness before the frothy milk or warmth, then sigh ecstatically. My caffeinated blood thins, rushes, and pounds through the rooms in my heart with greater urgency. The rhythmic drumming of a washing machine in mid-cycle fills my ears and a confused comfort comes with the after effect of sudden panic, and a need to run away. My mind seems incapable of focus, not because there is anyone else around, but rather because of the exact opposite. Heavy thoughts find new lightness and bubble up to the surface, with all this speculation about rainwater and blood beating in my veins with urgency.

Everything seems to be done in urgency; even the heavy rain gushes down the street in murky cascades over the flagstone pavement. The espresso machine on the counter catches my attention – its stainless steel spout, levers and fixtures all exist for the sake of urgency. The smartphone only inches away from right hand as I write this now – its soulless black screen and artificial senses and sensibilities all made to fuel our vices in urgency. What greater escape could there be than the very thing which plays upon our need for urgency?

People too are in a rush. With exception to the frail or indecisive, there is an ongoing epidemic of panic which worsens every year – to stay informed, to get ahead of your physical ailments, or of each other in our careers, our relationships, hobbies, and reputations both in person and virtual. There is a thrill in it but also perhaps a psychological, social, emotional, or spiritual necessity; if we stop trying to keep afloat, we miss out, heaven forbid! If we fall behind everyone else, we become irrelevant and obsolete. If we do not get ahead, we never get the chance to say “I’m right” or “I win”. Or worse still – if we do not keep treading water amid the current, we risk drowning.

I gasp for air, reemerging from my panic.

I rise up to meet the sharp wintry wind of reality, with grey mud under my fingernails and murky water falling away from my eyes.

Then I grab my umbrella,

wrap a cardigan tightly around me,

and turn the front door key.