Monday Evening, I Hung Tomorrow's Shirt on the Door

Monday evening, I stepped off the bus on the way home and the sky was already deep blue. Once November came, the sun really did set early. I got in, turned on the light and put my bag down, but while my body wanted to sit, my mind was still at the office. Whether the email I sent today had gone through properly, whether what I said in the meeting had sounded strange, what it was that had to be finished by tomorrow morning: it all came back one piece at a time. I think I stood there in the entryway with my shoes off for quite a while. Then I heard the boiler click on, and only then did I make it into the room.

For dinner I put an egg on the leftover rice and washed the dishes afterward. I didn't have the energy to make soup, but it was enough of a dinner. I liked the feel of warm water on the backs of my hands. Setting the bowls upside down and drying my hands with a towel, I told myself that this Monday had pretty much passed. Even so, the office in my head had not closed its doors. Leaving work doesn't mean the mind leaves with you. The mug I had been drinking from that morning was still on the table.

What I hung on the door

I took tomorrow's shirt out of the wardrobe and hung it on the door handle. I hadn't ironed it, only picked one with fewer wrinkles. I put a pair of socks out on the chair too. I wanted to spare the me of tomorrow morning the trouble of choosing. In the dark room the hanging shirt stood like a person's shoulders. For no reason, I stroked it once to smooth its collar.

After washing up, I dried my hair roughly, turned off the living room light and left only the small lamp on in the bedroom. With my phone's brightness turned down, I opened still().

In peace I will both lay myself down and sleep, for you alone, LORD, make me live in safety.

Psalm 4:8 (WEB)

I didn't read it as a promise that I would sleep deeply tonight. What stayed with me was that lying down and being safe sit together in one sentence. It occurred to me that lying down might not be giving up on work but putting the day in someone's keeping. The shirt seemed to be saying for me that tomorrow's work could be done by tomorrow morning's me.

I set the alarm and pulled the blanket up to my neck. Passing cars outside, and somewhere a front door closing, came once, then twice. I quietly watched the lights of the office in my head go out one by one. Not all of them went out. That was all right. I left the remaining lights as they were and closed my eyes.

Today's breath — Under the blanket, breathe out slowly and close the door on today.