Wednesday, September 7, 2016

An old joke I'm telling you at the last possible moment

I hate, hate having to do things at the last moment.

That dreadful, sweaty feeling of all time running out, all beautiful options closing down on me one by one until suddenly I am herded, trapped, and narrowed into an absolute single path. Our free will is so sweet. Oh how we love to pretend it is bigger than it is. Sometimes all I am doing for hours is collecting options, and as I collect them they wind down and I am left alone, staring down the gauntlet of the only thing left for me to do, that which I have avoided until it has covered over every window, and every door, sealed the vents, bricked the walls. Ah Lord God, the injustice, the breaking of your one stupid bribe and covenant and promise, ah God how I hate having to do things at the last moment.

So naturally I put them off for as long as possible.

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