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06:00 AM. 

The alarm clock rings. I get up. I quickly put on my shirt and pants without washing my face. I run to the bathroom and wash my face. I comb my hair and put on my perfume. Everything feels sleepy. As I walk down the hallway and head for the door of the building, I see the warning, "No Exit." All the while, everything falls apart like the fall of a porcelain doll. The forbidden door. I turn off the alarm. I change my clothes and go back to bed. At 06:15, I open my eyes again. I shake off the feeling of being late for work that is rising inside me. Turning off the alarm was not enough, I turn off the phone and throw it to the doorstep. I struggled desperately in the dreams where my bosses turned into giant thorny flowers in my head and the pointing fingers held me accountable for why I didn't show up for work.

The next day. 

06:00 AM. The alarm didn't go off. I did not get out of bed. Still, the alarm from my internal clock, which automatically ensures my eyes open, kept me awake in the morning. I consoled myself by telling over and over, "I am not going to work today, there a Covid 19 lockdown." I stretched. My feet cracked. Every ant killed on earth for nothing nestled in my legs. I closed my eyes as the pain of cramps spread across the bed. I was not going to work today. When I woke up, everything was fine. I was making a to-do list of all my unfinished projects due to my busy schedule. My mind was incubating. Now that I had settled into the period of the abundance of time, I would have no excuse. Papers and pens came and went. Headings were written and erased again and again. Photographs were compiled and composed. New ideas were jotted down. Excitement was refreshed. Now I can begin my project with the first line of the list. Then. And then. And then. And then.

The first paragraph, which began with big words, remained unfinished from the first sentence. The photos fell apart from the first draft. The dog-eared book to be read calcified. It puffed up. Again. And again. 

Any kind of work that will be done was abandoned in lockdown. The indentations in the centre of the bed deepened. There was plenty of time. Really? Was it the spoiledness based on the abundance, was it the idea of "I will be in lockdown tomorrow anyway," "There's plenty of time," "We will be at home a long time, I'll be able to focus on it at some point." I don't know which phrase it was, but I was getting sleepier and sleepier in the indentation that I deepened in the middle of the bed. An invisible hand came and blocked my mind. The days got darker. The house grew prodigiously. The curtains in front of the windows cracked. A long after. And afterwards. And afterwards. And afterwards.

06:00 AM. 

The alarm didn't ring. First I washed my face. I put on my house dress. I opened all the windows to relieve the curtain which felt blue. They were aired one by one. As if in a movie scene, I wiped my desk with the back of my arm. I ripped to-do lists up. Gently, I pulled the plug that an invisible hand had inserted into the edge of my mind. The coolness of the mouth opening with air flowed into my body. The chillness of the contact the rim made with the air flowed into my body. It spread out. The sky forgot the pain of the cloud. It spread out. The sheets covered the indentation of the bed with dreams as sharp as razor blades. It spread out. Ideas grew up by themselves on the yellow of May. They spread out. The first sentence of the unfinished first paragraph was completed.


06:00 AM. 

The alarm clock rang. I hurriedly got up and washed my face. I changed my clothes. I decided on the book I would read on the 2-hour Kayaş-Sincan train, and I packed. As I approached the door of the building, it was written "No Exit." I thought, "Am I breaking a rule now?" while the door closed behind me. I hesitated in the silence that hit me in the face as I walked down the stairs two by two and went out into the street. The shift was about to end. I had to hurry, catch the train, and sit down at my desk to finish the piles of work from yesterday. I was unable to answer the questions that arose from my mind's "Room of One's Own." Why was I on the road at a time when a new order based on staying home was being established? Why were my feet moving restlessly in the emptiness of the street? I was fading while I struggled to understand what the mask that covered half of my face was teaching us. As the mild chill of morning descended upon me, the sky changed direction. May it change direction, when was I going to complete the work on the list? As the sound of the train vibrating on my back grew freshly learned forests in my ears, my hands began to knit a peaceful sleep for tomorrow. I was not bound by the rules now. I returned to where the cycle began again and began working the moment I stopped.


06:00 AM. 

I was in a hurry now. Sectioning into many hours of the day ...