The Dead Square

I am quite comfortable with the idea of idling while waiting to tackle a ‘to do’ list. In fact, I even derive a certain kind of pleasure in holding out the gratification of getting the actual work done. I will walk around the ‘list,’ sit next to it, glance at it from the corner of my eyes, run afar as if I was to save my life only to come strolling back ever so slowly, then stop at a safe distance so that the pull of responsibility doesn’t drag me close enough to have it picked up. No. I won’t do that. That’s the fun.

I relish those moments like one enjoys bubble gum. Chew and stretch them till the sugary sweetness is gone and the jaw throbs with a dull ache. Oh, yes, I play with that ‘waiting in’ time before picking up a ‘to do list.’ There is a sense of extended pleasure in knowing that I can do everything on that list and yet I have chosen not to. That I can decide to own that satisfaction of a job well done but instead look at it from far, taunting it, teasing it to suck me into its vortex and leave me with no choice but to complete the task. I wait. I walk. I lie down on my bed and bury my head in the soft pillows. I do a fox trot with an imaginary friend in my living room. I stand in a corner facing the table on which, like a sweet temptation, a naked woman, not inviting but willing and unresistant, lies the list. I walk straight to it with long purposeful strides, as if to pick it up in that very instant, but side step it the last minute, laughing inside at having given it the impression of having succumbed and then slipping away, shattering it’s momentary illusion of control. I glow in my victory.

Of course, all the while, I grin. It is unstoppable. ‘You are mine, sweetheart,’ I tell the sensation that awaits at the other end of that completed list. Prolong the gratification, I tell myself. Don’t give in right away. Wait. Wait. Wait some more. Learn to control your mind. I know that feeling of joy cannot escape me. Like a besotted yet shy lover, it waits for me to make the first step, to melt in my arms and infuse in me pulsating life. Yet it can do nothing till I touch it. Powerless over me, it waits. But only till it learns to play the game. Then it plays dirty. Seduction is sweet and poisonous. It conspires to destroy your mind by offering you sensations of the body.

My gratification wakes up from its helplessness, assumes the look of a high-school teacher and whispers its first words, ‘It’s a sin to waste your time like this,’ it tells me. ‘You should just get it over with and move on with your life. Be wise.’

I laugh inside my head. ‘Good try. But I am not falling for that one.’ It balks at me. I say, ‘I can get the ‘to do list’ done right now but then what? You will turn up as another one. Then another one. And then another. I am not going to slave my life away for these stupid, infernal lists, now am I?’ I smirk.

‘Life is systematic and organized execution of goals,’ it offers.

‘Life is a journey without roads,’ I refute. Turning to wink at my invisible audience whom presumably acknowledges and appreciates the ambiguous ‘Back to the Future’ reference/metaphor.

‘You won’t reach anywhere like that.’

‘Where will you take me if I accept the ‘lists’ as my master?’

‘You need to know what has to be done.’

‘But I follow my heart’s desires.’

‘That is no way to live your life.’

‘A list cannot be my guiding light.’

‘You are missing the point.’

‘Your point is that I must give up and give in and pick up that list and get going, is that not?’

‘All I am saying is it is only right that one takes care of one’s responsibilities.’

‘Does everybody have responsibilities?’

‘Yes.’

‘What is your’s?’

‘What?’

‘What is your responsibility?’

‘To give you a sense of achievement and pride when you have done something you committed yourself to.’

‘Is that all?’

‘No. Fundamentally, I make you happy when you fulfill your responsibilities.’

‘What is my responsibility? Is to pay bills? Or wash my hair?’

‘No. Your primary responsibility is to be alive. Everything else is a support function.’

‘Good. Am I alive?’

‘Yes. You are.’

‘Then why are you after me with this list and that list. If I am alive you know I am doing whatever it is that I need or want to be alive. Which means, I am responsible. So why not just be happy with that?’

The abrupt silence that follows takes me by surprise. ‘Hello?’ My voice echoes insides my head and then dies down. I don’t hear anything anymore. I don’t see the list on the table. It must have fallen and slipped under the couch. Through the open window a warm breeze waltzes into my room. I smile in welcome.

Checkmate.

~ by davenewworld on November 24, 2009.