Procrastination

Procrastination

Each night my father would set the old metal alarm clock and place it on the washing machine in the bathroom. The noise the alarm clock made in the mornings was distant and unpleasant. And it lasted briefly. Immediately afterwards the flat would come alive, you could hear the footsteps, the doors opening, the lights flicking, the still somnolent conversations.

Nowadays I sleep with my mobile within reach. I wake up to a pleasant melody, which I can command to rouse me at five-minute intervals. My day starts with postponing reality. My responsibilities can wait five more minutes. Procrastination is expecting me insidiously at the exit from sleep. It always finds me drowsy, sometimes even hungover. Always unprepared to resist its charms. And it has been keeping me captive for days on end, for years now.

 

Translated by Kalina Janeva

AuthorGjoko Zdravеski
2019-12-27T11:48:39+00:00 December 18th, 2019|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 129|0 Comments