I walk around the room waiting for a message to pop up on the screen of my phone. I’ve got so many things to do and try to fool myself I actually care about them more than about anything else and I’m really terribly busy and I completely forget about what I’m actually looking forward to. As if I were trying to forget about a pizza delivery that’s running a bit late when I’m starving and there’s absolutely nothing in my fridge and I haven’t eaten for ages.
And then, when the message does pop up, I try not to grab my phone right away and keep busy at least a few minutes before opening it, reading it and writing a reply a few seconds later. Time seems to be stretching, tightly caught between my fingertips and my heart, like a piece of chewing gum I’m playing with. I’m always careful not to break it. Excitement does eat up calories. Anxiety is always hungry, too. And, a week later, what do you know? The scale is 2 kilos friendlier.