Posted in Of Funnies, Of Life's Dramedies, Of Psyche

Of The Last Moment


I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by. – Douglas Adams

It’s fortunate for Mr.Adams that, despite, going about in space and seeing as well as hearing many wondrous things, he had never seen or heard the clinging-clanging of the shackles of a deadline. That is what they are to me: long, never-ending, chains of metal. Rusty and ugly, they are organic and regenerative, appearing everywhere. The more you try to wish them away, the more they cling to you. No wonder, these lines of metal are called deadlines. One of these days, deadlines will surely be the death of me.

The pattern is always the same. About 24 hours earlier, it starts. First, the breathlessness. Then, the coldness and sweating of palms, followed by the heat of my face and especially my jawline. And that is just what is external. Inside, suddenly a wrecking ball (remove that dated association with a song from last year in your head please) starts pounding away at my poor old heart, waiting for it to finally collapse one of these days. Just writing about it is making it happen again.

Who else feels that deadlines are only aerial creatures that make small sounds of friction against the wind as they fly by? If you, who are reading, feel this way, then surely tell me how you do it, for, as you must understand, I cannot ask Mr.Adams himself. I don’t have just a deadline for Monday, I have multiple ones. Even after so many years, I still haven’t learnt. There have always been, and I guess, there will always be, things left till the last moment. I wish I could just learn to skip the panicking before that. But, how on Earth does one do it?

I am glad that I don’t know when the last moment of my life will be. Can you imagine all the things you’d have to get done before? The best things in life, including life, don’t have randomly assigned time periods. You don’t fall in love and think, oh I’m gonna love her till July. Maybe you want to break up in July because you will be leaving town or something (if so, may I suggest a zillion apps which make long-distance relationships way easier. No way you’d have to break up over that excuse again!) but you are very unlikely to stop loving them at that very moment.

Eating doesn’t have a deadline. Or laughter. Deadlines are only for mundane things, like essays and work. Writing this blog, too, has unfortunately become a victim of the deadline for this month. As I’m doing NaBloPoMo, I have to have something up everyday or, I’d, well, I’d only disappoint myself I guess. This particular self-inflicted deadline has taught me something. I can never do anything for fun. I can’t even write for fun in a fun way. I have to take it seriously. I have to, even, take it morbidly seriously. And, the icing of the cake is, I take the morbidity so seriously that there is a daily deadline here.

Please wish me luck for Monday. Even if it is the last moment, I hope I still can make it on time.


Writer, Blogger, Kate Bush Fanatic

4 thoughts on “Of The Last Moment

  1. I don’t think deadlines are bad. I think the concept is fine but the name itself, deadlines, doesn’t make for much room to like the idea. I want to compare this to, say… Meeting a friend at a park. In an abstract way, that is a deadline yet we don’t feel put off by it.


    If you ask me, not looking forward to a deadline perhaps reflects some other deeper turmoil that can only be illustrated through having to do something by a certain hour.

    Nevertheless, good luck.


  2. I completely understand and agree with what you’ve written, especially the part about panicking. As someone who has to hand in an essay in 4 hours, I wish you good luck on your Monday deadlines.

    1. Sadly, did not. Including the comic I told you I had to make. Was so panicked, couldn’t move beyond some circles that were meant to be heads and speech bubbles (with speech) that came out of them. But, feel better now, with the panic gone.

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