I love writing schedules; I love complex feats of timing; I love hearing the clock in the background with that gentle "chick" that says when each second has passed.
I love time.
I wish it loved me back.
The other day I realized, a bit late, that I had only three minutes to get to my daughter's school to pick her up. Of course, I could fly out the door and probably get there on time, but I looked at my sorry self and realized that I needed a shower. Hum. Three minutes. Just how quickly could I shower? And get to the school not dripping, fully clothed, and more presentable than I currently was?
I decided to give it a try. I showered, dressed, dried my hair (mostly), made myself presentable and got there on time. What a rush of self-satisfaction.
Unfortunately, all this did was make me want to do this deadline crunch every day. As if I needed yet another excuse to push the limits.
