I confess I am one of those people who cannot stand to be late. It sends me into turmoil. If I know I am running late I panic, can’t think straight, my heart pounds harder than usual, just to rub in the fact that I am late. I hate being late.
But somehow, when I am running late, I seem to adopt a superhuman ability to perform everyday tasks with much more efficiency than usual. The dithering ceases and I manage to move myself from sleep to readiness in an amount of time that seems to make no sense in the real world.
It must be the adrenaline or sheer panic that spurs me into action. Why can’t I be this efficient in my normal life? I seem to drift away hours in procrastination (I also like to call it planning for my next piece of writing) seemingly without actually achieving anything.
I am formulating a plan to be prompt which may involve a complicated system of altering the time on all of my clocks, and streamlining my daily activities. Can I get dressed and brush my teeth at the same time? We shall see.
Elloise Hopkins.
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