If you read my post The Last Minute Syndrome then you know that last Monday I was going through acute symptoms of a certain disease. Lets pick it up from where we left off.
My nerves were all frayed, my breathing was irregular, my body temperature was above normal, and my eyes kept drifting to my watch which I noticed was showing a time five minutes earlier than the street clock. The disease was now in its final stages, would I survive or was the disease going to get me?
When rushing towards a deadline with these symptoms, it seems the world moves in slides instead of a continuous flow of events, and that you are watching yourself as the lead actor in a tragic-comedy.
I saw myself: jump out of the taxi, rush towards the lift, get stopped by security, go back to security desk, requested for ID, fumble for my wallet, drop my wallet, look at my watch 8:43, think of those movies where a bomb is being defused up until the clock is just about to get to zero, allow myself a smile, rush back to the lift, continuously jab the lift button although its already lit, look at my watch, 8:44, tap my feet, take a deep breath, think how I would curse myself if I miss the deadline, lift opens, jump in, have to wait for other passengers, lift door closes, press 20th floor, other passengers getting of on lower floors, see 9, 12, 16 also pressed, look at my watch 8:44, look at my watch again still 8:44. Jump out the lift door, wonder if I should wait 15 more minutes to make the story I am going to tell more dramatic, rush towards the tender box, find an overzealous employee preparing to close it, loudly announce its not yet 9:00 am and dramatically drop my proposal into the box.
The event was over, I came out shaken but generally unscathed. I could now joke and laugh about it, and therein lies the danger. Once you escape LMS you build up a fool-hardy bravado attitude thinking you can never succumb to it. But I'm smarter now, prevention is better than cure, so I'll be making sure I complete my tasks in good time. Will you?
My nerves were all frayed, my breathing was irregular, my body temperature was above normal, and my eyes kept drifting to my watch which I noticed was showing a time five minutes earlier than the street clock. The disease was now in its final stages, would I survive or was the disease going to get me?
When rushing towards a deadline with these symptoms, it seems the world moves in slides instead of a continuous flow of events, and that you are watching yourself as the lead actor in a tragic-comedy.
I saw myself: jump out of the taxi, rush towards the lift, get stopped by security, go back to security desk, requested for ID, fumble for my wallet, drop my wallet, look at my watch 8:43, think of those movies where a bomb is being defused up until the clock is just about to get to zero, allow myself a smile, rush back to the lift, continuously jab the lift button although its already lit, look at my watch, 8:44, tap my feet, take a deep breath, think how I would curse myself if I miss the deadline, lift opens, jump in, have to wait for other passengers, lift door closes, press 20th floor, other passengers getting of on lower floors, see 9, 12, 16 also pressed, look at my watch 8:44, look at my watch again still 8:44. Jump out the lift door, wonder if I should wait 15 more minutes to make the story I am going to tell more dramatic, rush towards the tender box, find an overzealous employee preparing to close it, loudly announce its not yet 9:00 am and dramatically drop my proposal into the box.
The event was over, I came out shaken but generally unscathed. I could now joke and laugh about it, and therein lies the danger. Once you escape LMS you build up a fool-hardy bravado attitude thinking you can never succumb to it. But I'm smarter now, prevention is better than cure, so I'll be making sure I complete my tasks in good time. Will you?
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