A Day in The Life of a Time Anxiety Sufferer
Samantha glanced at her watch as she rushed out of the staff meeting. She had exactly 15 minutes to get to the church for choir practice.
She hated running late, even by a second. She felt a surge of panic as she saw the traffic jam ahead. She cursed under her breath and checked her phone. Mitchell, her husband, had missed three calls. She ignored them and sent a quick text: “Sorry, busy. Talk later.”
She made it to the church with just two minutes to spare. She ran inside and joined the other singers. She smiled and nodded at them, but didn’t have time for small talk. She opened her music folder and scanned the songs. She knew them all by heart, of course. She had practised them every night for an hour, timing herself with a stopwatch.
She sang with passion and precision, hitting every note perfectly. She loved singing, but she also loved being the best. She glanced at the clock on the wall every few minutes, making sure she was on track. She had another meeting after choir, a panel discussion on education reform. She was one of the invited speakers, along with some prominent experts and politicians. She had prepared a speech that was exactly 10 minutes long, not a second more or less.
She left the choir practice as soon as it was over, without saying goodbye to anyone. She got in her car and drove to the hotel where the panel was held. She checked in at the reception and got a name tag. She looked at her watch again. She had 20 minutes before the panel started. She decided to use that time to review her speech and make some notes.
She walked into the conference room and sat at the front table. She saw the other panellists chatting and mingling with the audience. She ignored them and focused on her papers. She didn’t care about networking or socialising. She only cared about delivering her message and impressing everyone with her knowledge and eloquence.
She did just that. She spoke with confidence and authority, citing facts and figures to support her arguments. She answered the questions from the moderator and the audience with ease and clarity. She looked at the clock again and smiled inwardly when she saw that she had finished right on time.
She received a round of applause and a few compliments from the other panellists. She thanked them politely but didn’t linger. She had another appointment to keep: a counselling session with her therapist.
She had been seeing Dr. Brindell for six months, ever since Mitchell had suggested it. He said he was worried about her stress level and her obsession with time. He said she needed to relax and enjoy life more. He said he missed spending quality time with her, doing things they both loved.
Samantha didn’t understand what he was talking about. She loved her life, she loved her work, and she loved her hobbies. She didn’t need to relax, she needed to be productive and efficient. She didn’t have time to waste on trivial things like watching movies, going out for dinner, or sleeping in on the weekends.
She agreed to see Dr Brindell only to appease Mitchell, hoping he would stop nagging her about it. But she didn’t find the sessions helpful at all. Dr. Brindell kept asking her about her feelings, her childhood, her dreams, and her fears. He kept trying to make her see that she had a problem, that she was suffering from time anxiety.
Samantha denied it vehemently. She said she was fine, that she was happy, that she was in control of her life. She said she didn’t need therapy, she needed more time.
She left Dr. Brindell’s office feeling frustrated and angry. She checked her watch again and saw that it was almost 9 pm. She realized she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. She decided to stop by a fast food place on her way home and get something to eat.
She got home around 9:30 pm and found Mitchell sitting on the couch, watching TV. He looked up when he heard her come in.
“Hey, honey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” she said curtly.
She put her bag down and went to the kitchen.
“I made dinner for us,” he said, following her.
“I’m not hungry,” she lied.
She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water.
“Please, Sam,” he said, pleadingly.
He reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away.
“I’m tired,” she said.
She walked past him and headed to the bedroom.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
“About what?” she snapped.
“About us,” he said.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.
She slammed the door behind her and locked it.
She changed into her pyjamas and got into bed.
She looked at the clock on her nightstand.
It was 9:45 pm.
She set an alarm for 5 am.
She had a busy day tomorrow.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
She didn’t hear Mitchell’s soft knock on the door, or his whispered “I love you”.
She didn’t feel his tears or his pain.
She only felt the clock ticking, counting down the seconds of her life.