A satirical rationalization for why we put things off.
It had been three weeks since my partner had reminded me that I still had a pile of clean, unmatched socks laying in the corner of my office, detritus from an suitcase unpacking session after a trip to L.A.
I had meant to put them away right away, but had gotten a notification on my phone. Two days later, it had been a UPS overnight of my meds knocking at the door just as I had reached for the pile. A week and a half later, while walking towards the corner to take care of them, the cat had jumped on my chair, needing cuddles.
And now, three weeks later, I noticed something: next to the pile, where the empty hamster cage that we planned to give our granddaughter sat, the little wheel was turning. Nothing was on it; there was no evident motive force — but it was turning, steadily, for no apparent reason.
“Weird,” I thought, as I scooped up the socks. The moment my hand touched them, the hamster wheel stopped turning.
I took my hand away from the socks. It turned.
Reached for them. It stopped.
And then a knock came at my front door…
“Mr. Miller?”
“Yes?” I wasn’t really frightened, but I couldn’t think of a reason this badge-flashing…
