"Sometimes you find yourself wandering down corridors that shift quietly when not observed directly, concealing yet revealing the essence of déjà vu..."
It was bright, undeniably midmorning, a time destined for mediocre productivity. The coffee was steadily lukewarm, much like the enthusiasm shared by the given. Noon approached ever so slowly, as it dragged time forward. An illusion, really, as if the clock were caught in some form of laborious irony.
We marvel at the cyclic nature of existential crises occurring precisely at 3:13 PM every Wednesday. We know our deadlines will chase us like hounds through a nondescript forest of tasks and obligations, all while disguised as opportunities presented by benevolent yet misleading fate.
Yet heaven forbid it were a Tuesday; Mondays are at least permitted their bad reputation, whereas the Tuesday routine requires an unyielding acceptance of the absurd. Dinner plans on Tuesday? Not a chance — only the midweek drama unfolds its weary plot.