I'll Learn To Swim After I Kill The Last Kola Bear

Right. He left the house five minutes earlier than he ever has. Mort is a man of routine. He desires a routine and had a difficult time functioning without one. He finds peace in one. Today, he wanted to do things different.
He didn't check his email while his shower heated up. He didn't read the business section first. He didn't even read the paper. He drank his coffee, but he added honey instead of sugar. He wore the same pants as he wore the day before, tied his tie in a different knot, styled his hair differently and drove his special occasion car to work. A Delorean, he never drove, he only washed and waxed every Sunday.
Today, he drove it. He left five minutes early, and it made more than five minutes worth of a difference. He saw different cars on his way to work. He noticed different people. He saw for the first time the sun refract its light from the shimmering skyscrapers onto the bay. He saw morning joggers finishing their runs. He saw college-aged kids driving home from the night before. He felt different. Mort was different he was alive.
He arrived at work early, as usual, but today he left and went to a café and ate a Danish. He decided that when he went out to lunch, he was going to ask the waitress out. He smiled.
He went to work late for the first time in 13 years. No one noticed. Mort swaggered around the office, trying to quell his inner pride of feeling alive. No one noticed. He blew of his 9 o'clock. No one noticed. He took an early lunch and his normal waitress wasn't working. He went back to work late and no one noticed.
Mort returned to the office and tried to get in on the current office pool, something he had never done before but always secretly wanted to, but there was no more room in the pool. Pete took the last two-dollar slot yesterday. Mort brushed it off and vowed to get in on the next round of office gambling.
Leaving work early, after arriving late and taking an early and long lunch was next for Mort. He left and went to the park. It was still too cold for the ducks to be on the now unfrozen pond. He strolled around the park, not answering his constantly ringing cell phone. He smiled. Mort realized that someone had to notice he was gone.
He went to an expensive French restaurant and ate by candlelight. It was hard for him to order more bread as the waiter was busy with larger tables. He paid his bill and returned home. He didn't check his email. He hadn't checked it all day.
He checked his cell phone. It was Tuesday. He makes his weekly call to his mother every Tuesday. He forgot. It was too late to call her now. He would call her tomorrow.
His phone must have rung a dozen times as he was walking in the park but only registered one missed call. It was a number he didn't know. He called his voicemail and his eyes closed. His mother had died.
Mort woke the next morning and checked his email as the shower warmed up. He put on his Wednesday suit and read the business section. He drove is Honda to work. He walked in early and stared at his cubicle. He set his briefcase down and turned on his computer.
He slouched back in his chair and began working. Mort had a lot to do; he had to make up for a wasted day.