Filling in each square with commitments. Labeling dates with ‘important’ conceptions. Planning with reckless abandon. Penciling in those paramount forget-me-nots.

As the date arrives,  you stare at the box and realize those scribblings were drafted in vain; you’ve single-handedly obliged yourself to yet another task.

Leisure or otherwise, you bow your head and trudge through the responsibility. Perhaps you enjoy the engagement, or maybe you have to fake it; maybe you are gritting your teeth and sweating bullets. Maybe you are waiting in a never-ending line, on the verge of passing out with sheer boredom. Perhaps you’re scared, ecstatic, indifferent, dismal, calm, cool, or callous.

Nonetheless, you are working towards the obvious end-goal: triumphantly crossing off the calendar box with a big, fat, proper “X”.



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