I was 20 minutes into my 45 minute commute, I'd been doing a sudoku on my phone — a task that swallowed enough of my attention to allow me to ignore the cramped, sweaty journey. Seemingly out of nowhere, I wondered if I'd switched off the extension sockets that powered my array of electricals at home.
The uncertainty grew, I vaguely remembered having a shower, I vaguely remembered the morning coffee I'd made, but what about the extension sockets?
I tried running through my morning routine, tried to convince myself that I'd probably flicked the switch to its off position — as I'd done most mornings — but I couldn't be certain.
A looming sense of dread enveloped me, what if something is wrong with the wires? What if something overheats — my phone charger for example — wasn't there some sort of campaign warning us about the dangers of phone chargers being left plugged in? Don't they cause fires?
I closed my eyes, I tried to focus more, I tried to remember the steps I'd taken before leaving home that morning. The issue with trying to remember repetitive tasks is that they tend to blend into one. Even as I managed to visualise flicking off the power switch, was that today? This morning? Or was it yesterday?
The feelings of uncertainty and dread were quickly evolving into a panic. My stomach felt unsettled, as I visualised returning home to a burned out shell, water still dripping from the fire hoses, the accusatory glances from the now homeless neighbours from the adjoining flats. I felt sick. I tried to refocus on my phone, tried to distract myself from the anxiety and panic, but where would I stay tonight? Who could I call to find a sofa to sleep on? What about my belongings? My laptop? Were all my important documents backed up?
As the train pulled into the station, I realised that the only way to get rid of the anxiety, the panic, was to be certain I'd flicked the switches off.
So I crossed the bridge, and made my way to the train on the opposite platform, the train that would take me back home, where I could check the switches, make sure everything was safe and only then would I be able to function properly throughout the day.
It wasn't always like this, and I couldn't tell you how it had gotten to this point. In the past I wouldn't have cared for such trivial risks, sockets that were now checked multiple times a day used to be permanently on. Chargers and consoles and TVs and appliances constantly drawing power. Days, weeks and months went by without anything being disconnected or switched off.
Nothing obvious had happened to change my awareness of the apparent dangers. There had been no fire, not even a near miss incident that could obviously explain the absolute dread and panic that now filled my mornings.
As soon as the doors of the train had hissed shut, and the whine of the electric motors kicked in, the level of panic dropped.
My emotions were telling me that I'd done the right thing, that I'd made the right call, that everything might be okay now. I wouldn't even be late for work, as this double commute had happened so frequently, that I'd built extra time into my day to accommodate it.