I am skipping the next thousand moments in favor of belonging to the next day. I have decided that the next day is permanent and shall remain that one day for the rest of my life. If I wish it to be so it must be so. I place a mental check mark next to this thought so I do not forget.
[Last night I dreamed of a restaurant I never ate it, but somehow I knew the taste of their pickled beets both sweet and vinegary with enhanced staining power; I request a whole jar which they presented on a platter. The faceless server popped the lid, reached in with thick fingers and pulled out a slice of pickled beet. I did not eat this one, but rubbed the fermented vegetable on my white skirt coloring the fibers a dull maroon.]
My dedication to tomorrowness is unsurpassed. Others dedicate themselves to living one day at a time, or even one moment. Not me. I crossover. As I stand in tomorrow, passersby look awkwardly, question the why of my decision, but I refuse answers. I will not tell them about their future. Not because I like keeping secrets, but because I don’t want to talk to anyone.
[Secrets boil, spit. They leave tiny burns on your face and hands. Once I dropped a large prismatic beer mug on a tile floor. The mug shattered, shards of glass scattered across the floor, and some found their way into my skin, puncturing my arms. I looked at the floor, placed my palms firmly into the glimmering mess. There is no secret because I am telling you.]
Tomorrowness is being tomorrow. If I am tomorrow am I repeating the same tomorrow day after day and therefore future is stagnant? What if my Aunt Sue comes to visit–will she get stuck in tomorrow? Will she be forced into tomorrowness? Would Ray Bradbury’s Montag watch the nameless woman burn with her books over and over?
[I look through the view-master; press the lever for the next image. It is easy to create a rhythm with each click. The Apollo is landing on the moon. But I think that happened yesterday.]
Tomorrowness is a quality so it must have goodness and / or provide someone with something. Everyone expects something; tomorrowness can be that something but you must deliver. If you do not deliver, you may face consequences such as being forced back into today. Your own tomorrowness is in jeopardy should orders go unfulfilled.
[What say your lover? Is that a circular pattern, inescapable desire if your lover is tomorrowness? If your lover is a widow or widower, there is not tomorrowness, only a constant repeat of today. You may continue to find joy and excitement in your lover, but if you should fall in love your tomorrowness will cease to exist.]
In my tomorrowness I walk alone in the woods daily, but if I want to escape in the city and get lost among crowds I can do that. It is easy to go unseen in either circumstance. Fear not being watched or followed in the woods; these feelings are common, but it is probably a squirrel. And let’s face it, they’re attention span is brief. You cannot carry on a conversation with a squirrel the way you can your dog.
[Flaubert’s Emma confides in her dog; she tells that greyhound everything. Until, during their move to Tostes, he runs away and is never found.]
If you embrace tomorrowness, you cannot return to the day before. There is nothing you can do about this. You can only live with whatever regret you have.