Five Minutes a Day: One (Ritual)

I have entered into a contract with myself: for the next month, I will attempt to write for five minutes a day, each and every day. Here goes.

Day One: Ritual



Instructions:

Remove sleeve.

Pierce film.

Heat at full power for three minutes.

Stir.

Return to microwave and cook for a further three minutes.

Leave to stand for one minute.

Check your phone. No texts.

Serve.

Carry through to the lounge

balancing your drink in the crook of your arm.

Eat alone.

Well, not truly alone.

With the flickering glow of the television for company.

Question whether that actor is whatsisface,

oh, you know the one.

He’s on that other show,

the one with those two other men.

You know.

They drive around in cars.

Check your phone.

Perhaps there was a hold-up at the office?

Continue watching television.

Question whether your attention to the box is entirely voluntary.

Is it me, or are the presenters getting younger and younger?

Check your phone.

Watch, no, feel the hours grinding by.

It’s tangible.

At 11pm, after three episodes of ‘Come Dine With Me’, decide to go to bed.

Stripped of its comforting entrails, the meal’s container now looks rather small and forlorn.

Leave the empty plastic husk where it lies.

You’ll clean it up tomorrow.