One hour of freedom

Freedom. Just for one hour. Today, I slink down the front steps of my Work to be greeted with sunshine and warmth. The air is humid and cloying; a welcome change to the icy chills of the air con unit above my desk. I walk along the street, a quiet residential road, which is now teaming with bodies. Some bustling around with a quick pace and a place to be, others amble at a gentle speed, soaking up the sun and enjoying the welcome break. I weave along and join the amblers, closing my eyes for a brief second to feel the sun’s heat. The summer breeze ruffles my hair, most of which is already spilling out of its messy up-do.

My feet navigate their way along the path. They know where they’re going; after all I walk the same route every lunch. My feet know each bump and pothole, allowing me to keep my eyes closed a little longer, allowing the stresses of 5 minutes ago to drift away. Lunchtime is my time. I grasp this hour with both hands and relish the moment the clock hits 13:00. My pace slows, knowing that in a moment I will have reached my destination. It’s handy thing, living a few moments from work. Both a blessing and a curse. I fill the rest of my hour with making food, reading books, blogs, writing and finding scribbled to-do lists on the back of sticky notes or receipts. I carry a pen wherever I go but paper? Not so much. I like to make do with scraps I find, usually from the depths of my bag.

Before too soon, the clock’s hand creeps towards 14:00. Walking back to Work, my pace returns to its normal hasty speed, bustling past the amblers and looking on enviously. Greeted by three concrete steps and a frosty blast, I acknowledge that I am back. The doors close behind me and with it goes My Hour.

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3pm tea.

Possibly my favourite time of the day; the office is in its usual afternoon lull with only the sounds of typing and sighing filling the frosty air-conditioned surroundings. Bodies traipse to and from the kitchen, coming back armed with mugs of caffeine and fists full of chocolate – anything to get us through the last few tiresome hours. I hold back, just a little, so that the rush to the kitchen ceases. A few more people slink back from the kitchen and I know that it’s time.

Standing up I stretch, causing God knows what to click and crack back in to place. Mug in hand, I take a slow pace to the kitchen and enjoy the feeling of stretching my hunched up limbs. The corridors are silent and I pass through in to the kitchen which is beautifully empty. I refill the kettle as high as I can – anything to give me a longer break. Setting it down on its stand and flicking the switch, I close my eyes and enjoy the peaceful hum of the vending machine and the timid bubbling of the kettle, knowing that I have at least a few moments peace.

I keep my eyes closed, knowing that it’s a dangerous thing to do and wondering if it is at all possible to fall asleep standing up. A few deep breaths in and out, my mind fills of fantasising of the caffeine that is soon to hit my veins, soaking up every second of silence. The aggressive rumbling of the kettle, followed by a loud click, pulls me from my reverie far too soon. I stir my cup as slowly as possible and admit that it is time to head back to The Desk. I sigh. It’s a bittersweet thing. The delicious peacefulness of the kitchen mixed with the desire for caffeine. Knowing that in a moment’s time, my mind will be working on full steam once again, buzzing with thoughts and ideas, working at 100 miles per hour. 

Guess I’ll see you again tomorrow, 3pm tea.  

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