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(Recovered from a bundle of papers folded incorrectly on purpose)
A day should not be permitted to follow another day directly.
This is not how time was meant to behave.
Between one day and the next there must be a thin, uncounted region—
not a day,
not a night,
not even a concept—
but a buffer,
wherein the soul is removed from the socket, gently dusted,
and reinserted facing forward.
The ancients understood this.
This is why they invented dusk, dawn, thresholds, vestibules, and lying down without sleeping.
We have abolished all of these and replaced them with tomorrow.
Tomorrow is a lie told by today to avoid accountability.
Time now behaves like stacked plates in a cupboard.
Each day leaning on the next.
Cracks inevitable.
The calendar insists this is stability.
I propose instead the Interstitial Day—
which does not occur,
cannot be scheduled,
and refuses to be remembered once passed through.
During the Interstitial Day: – clocks lose confidence
– cause precedes intention
– one may sigh before knowing why
– and rest is achieved without permission
Critics argue this violates thermodynamics.
I remind them that thermodynamics started it.
Quantum physicists object that such a day would require a particle to be in two states at once.
I reply: so are we.
One foot remains in yesterday.
One foot is already tired from tomorrow.
The Interstitial Day is the moment we notice we are doing the splits.
It is not a pause in time.
It is time stepping aside to let us pass.
Children encounter it naturally.
Artists fall into it by accident.
Adults glimpse it only while staring into cupboards or standing in doorways forgetting why they arrived.
Governments cannot tax it.
Employers cannot name it.
Wellness influencers ruin it immediately.
Therefore it must remain unofficial.
If you feel that the days are touching—
overlapping—
pressing their warm, unreasonable faces against one another—
this is not fatigue.
This is the absence of the space that was meant to catch you.
I leave this unsolved on purpose.
Resolution is how time wins.
— E.N.
