Waking up begins with saying am and now. That which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognised I, and therefore deduced I am, I am now. Here comes next, and is at least negatively reassuring; because here, this morning, is where it had expected to find itself; what’s called at home.
But now isn’t simply now. Now is also a cold reminder, one whole day later than yesterday, one year later than last year. Every now is labelled with its date, rendering all past nows obsolete, until - sooner or later - perhaps - no, not perhaps - quite certainly: It will come.