The Dark Truth of Waiting

The morning is silent, I can hear no outside.
Deep and heavy sleep last night, no dreams, a non- soundtrack like now; no birdsong, no traffic, no movement, as if the flat has been transported to a geographically remote region or time.
The devices in this flat begin to entropy; the i-pod, the DVD player. Even the lampshade from my room fell off onto the floor this morning when I returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea.
I cannot believe I have only four days left until I am off work for a week. It seemed an impossibly amount of time to wait when first booked, about six weeks ago, and now it is the length of an Easter weekend away. The thought disquiets me. Everything we wait for must eventually arrive, and not all that we wait for is wanted... but some things may be inevitable.
Four minutes till I leave for work. Till I am meant to leave for work anyway.
The morning feels so still.