What is the best excuse you have heard lately?
THE EXCUSES CHRONICLES: The best excuse I have heard lately
Modern Apologetics in the Age of Accountability
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I. THE MORNING ALIBI
The alarm didn’t just ring—it screamed.
My phone exploded with notifications, each one
a tiny digital judge demanding my attention
before I’d even managed to locate my soul.
The best excuse I have heard lately,
I told my reflection in the bathroom mirror,
was how I’d accidentally joined a cult
that meets at 5:30 AM for synchronized breathing.
My cat stared at me with those judgmental eyes,
the ones that say “You’re supposed to be enlightened
but you still think ‘organic’ means expensive.”
I blamed the neighbors’ WiFi again—
their signal must have hijacked my circadian rhythm,
rewritten my genetic code to crave 3 AM TikTok
and existential dread about the economy.
“This isn’t laziness,” I whispered to the shower steam,
“this is revolutionary resistance against
the tyranny of timeliness.”
The steam didn’t answer, but I heard my mother’s voice
echoing through the water droplets:
“Back in my day, we had excuses like ‘the buffalo died’—
you have ‘algorithm overload’ and you call it a personality trait.”
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II. THE PROFESSIONAL EXCUSE
The office building gleamed like a monument
to people who actually show up on time.
I stood at the security desk, practicing my face
of someone who belongs here, someone whose
productivity metrics don’t live in spreadsheets
but in the hearts of those who matter.
The best excuse I have heard lately,
I told myself while swiping my badge (the third time this month),
was how I’m conducting avant-garde research
on the emotional impact of workplace surveillance.
“I was observing organizational behavior,” I’d explain
to my supervisor, who is either too busy or too polite
to ask what organizational behavior looks like
when observed from the parking lot at 10:47 AM.
My colleagues have developed such sophisticated excuses—
Sarah claims she’s running a “digital detox experiment,”
while Dave insists his mindfulness app has
developed its own consciousness and refuses
to cooperate with his daily schedule.
I admire their creativity, really I do,
but my excuse remains honest:
I’m afraid of what I might accomplish
if I actually showed up sober and on time.
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III. THE RELATIONSHIP EXPLANATIONS
Dating apps have become the new confession booths,
except instead of absolving sins, they generate
new ones with matching profiles.
I swipe right on people whose excuses sound
more interesting than their photographs.
The best excuse I have heard lately,
I told myself while crafting my third response of the night,
was how I’m practicing emotional availability
by maintaining a rotating cast of potential partners,
each one more emotionally unavailable than the last.
It’s like collecting rare stamps of human dysfunction—
what started as a hobby has become a lifestyle choice,
or possibly a cry for help disguised as modern romance.
My therapist suggests I’m afraid of intimacy,
though she’s never met my exes,
most of whom shared similar excuses:
“I need space to grow as a person,”
“I’m working on myself,”
“I’m between chapters right now.”
I wonder if they all attended the same seminar
on how to leave someone without actually leaving them.
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IV. THE FAMILY DYNAMICS
My mother calls every Sunday, which I’ve rescheduled
to Mondays because Sundays are for people
who have their lives together.
She asks about my job, my love life, my spiritual practices,
and I answer with the best excuse I have heard lately,
which changes weekly based on current events.
Last week: “I’m pioneering a new work-from-home paradigm
that revolutionizes productivity through strategic absence.”
The week before: “I’m developing an app that teaches
AI how to make human-level excuses to their bosses.”
This week: “I’ve joined a startup that’s basically
a co-op of people who collectively decide
to not participate in capitalism until Tuesday.”
She doesn’t believe me, but she has the grace
not to push. Maybe she’s learned from experience,
or maybe she’s just practicing the same skill
that brought me here: the art of saying nothing
while pretending everything is fine.
We’re a family of excuse-makers, really,
each generation perfecting the craft until
“I’ll call you back” means “I’ll call you never.”
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V. THE SOCIAL MEDIA APOLOGY
Instagram has become the new confessional booth,
except instead of seeking forgiveness,
we’re curating absolution through hashtags.
#SelfCare #MentalHealthAwareness #ProductivityHacks
have replaced “Our Father” and “Hail Mary.”
The best excuse I have heard lately,
I posted on my story while editing a video about
mindful procrastination,
was how I’m healing generational trauma through strategic avoidance.
It went viral—12 likes, which is basically a standing ovation
in the economy of digital validation.
My followers have become connoisseurs of excuses,
commenting “This speaks to my soul” and “Finally, someone gets it.”
They don’t realize I’m making it all up,
that the trauma I’m healing is imaginary,
that the avoidance I’m modeling is just… well,
avoidance. But authenticity has become so overvalued,
so mainstream, so… boring.
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VI. THE EXISTENTIAL EXCUSE
At 3 AM, when the world is either ending
or just beginning again, I practice my excuses
in the mirror, perfecting each expression of regret
that isn’t really regret because regret implies
caring about something, and caring is exhausting.
The best excuse I have heard lately,
I whispered to the ceiling fan,
was how I’m preparing for the singularity
by training myself to be as non-essential as possible.
If AI is going to take over, I need to master
the art of being obsolete before it happens.
It’s not depression, it’s future-proofing.
My friend thinks I should get help,
but what kind of help does someone need
who has successfully avoided all forms of commitment
except to the self-improvement industry?
I have read every book about personal growth,
attended every webinar on productivity,
subscribed to every newsletter about mindfulness,
and yet somehow I remain exactly where I was
five years ago, except now I have better excuses.
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VII. THE ARTISTIC EXCUSE
I tell everyone I’m a performance artist,
exploring the boundaries between responsibility
and rebellion through strategic absence.
My medium is excuses, my canvas is the calendar
of things I was supposed to do but didn’t,
my gallery opening is my funeral,
which I keep postponing because
I haven’t finished the piece yet.
The best excuse I have heard lately,
I announced at my pretend opening,
attended by three people who think this is real
and two who know it’s not but come anyway,
was how I’m documenting the death of ambition
through the lens of someone who used to have it.
The irony is so thick you could sell it
as artisanal air, marketed to people
who appreciate authenticity but only when it’s ironic.
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VIII. THE FINAL EXCUSE
Tomorrow, I promise myself,
I’ll finally stop making excuses
and start doing things instead.
Maybe. Probably. Okay, fine—I’ll start tomorrow.
This is the best excuse I have heard lately,
I told myself while setting five alarms
for 5:30 AM tomorrow morning.
The problem with excuses isn’t that they’re lies—
it’s that they’re not ambitious enough.
We’ve taken the art of avoidance and perfected it
into a science, a philosophy, a way of life.
My therapist says I’m afraid of failure,
but really I’m afraid of succeeding at something
that requires showing up on time,
being accountable, taking responsibility.
Maybe that’s the real excuse:
I’m not procrastinating because I’m lazy
or depressed or afraid of commitment.
I’m doing it because someone has to document
what happens when the age of accountability
collides with the age of endless excuses.
I’m not avoiding life—I’m studying it.
The best excuse I have heard lately,
I’ll save for my next performance piece,
this one titled “The Last Excuse,”
though I’ll probably keep postponing the opening
because, well…
Tomorrow, though. Definitely tomorrow.
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