Slapping the snooze button on a workday, just one more time than usual. Feeling the plastic ridge beneath your finger, knowing that is nine minutes more for you and nine minutes less for the boss. Nine minutes you would spend in a traffic jam anyway, so really you are saving the atmosphere from nine minutes of carbon monoxide.
Spending your lunch hour on a sunny park bench, reading a trashy novel whilst eating a mozzarella and pesto superior-style roll. Taking time to finish your chapter, maybe even start another if the hook is good enough, whilst your lunch digests. Slipping into a newsagent for a full-fat coke for the walk back to the office. Then going back to type the minutes your boss thought you should do in preference to eating.
Mixing a mid-afternoon latte using the office milk, heating it for 90 seconds in the microwave until it just starts to froth up the mug. Adding a half-spoon of coarse brown sugar, from a little crimped sachet someone brought back from a posh restaurant. But letting it lie on top of the foam, not stirring it in, so it crunches on your teeth when you scoop it off with a teaspoon.
Heading home via the local library and browsing the shelves for new authors. Hunting for your favourite old authors amongst the many books, hoping for a latest release or a volume you didn't know they had even written. Smelling the musty pages with brown mottling, flipping the thick pages they don't make like they used to. Searching for the library name stamp and finding it on page 35, just like always. Running your finger under the bubbled protective sleeve, releasing the seal between plastic and cover then rubbing it flat with as few air pockets as you can.
Turning all the lights out and dancing to your favourite music, even if it isn't the kind you can dance to. Dancing until your hair sweats and you are out of breath.