Bookmark #579

Come Sunday afternoon, I made time to reorganise my closet. It had not seen a glimpse of order in the past month. I had thought about doing it earlier, but that is how life turns out for most things: we do them later than we planned. It does not matter how late or how early we are. The essence of life lies only in things being done. There is so much I am running late for, and as I folded old pullovers in perfect, lithe movement, I almost thought I knew why it was that way. But the clarity from learning how to do one thing well rarely trickles into the others at the moment. It is only when much time has passed that you see how everything in your life affects everything else. How you make your coffee may dictate how you handle responsibility, and how you fold your pullovers has much to say about how well you make space for things in your day. In any case, I emptied the drawers and slowly changed what I put where. The socks and the handkerchiefs moved to the drawers in the bathroom, which had been empty for a while. The casual clothes went in their place, and I spent my afternoon making these little, somewhat irrelevant decisions. When I was done, I saw that a whole shelf was empty. It is incredible how a little rearrangement can make so much space for things.

The sun was now golden, and it made the grass golden too, and it was a golden, golden day. There was so much time still. I spent the afternoon watching a film I hadn’t seen in years and drank my coffee. When the cup was empty, I got up to refill it and continued watching. The sun stayed for two hours straight, and there was no other way I could have spent the day. I was still late for some things—one seldom isn’t—but I was not running. I felt sleepy a little later, despite the four cups of coffee I had devoured one by one, and I reasoned it may have been a plot concocted by the blanket and the patch of pale sunlight falling on it through the window, but I did not give in. I had to write still, and at first, I panicked. But it was still the evening—there was still time. If you rearrange things now and then, there is always time.