Ever notice how things are always more difficult when you do them in a rush? Everything, from cooking to writing to bomb-disarming to sex. Nothing benefits from the feeling that Time, that grasping bitch, is reaching from behind and throttling you. Unless Time is a dom and you’re into that sort of thing. In which case, you’re excused. Report back Wednesday.
For the rest of you, the sad fact of the matter is that rushing almost always gets us nowhere. If you’re driving, it doesn’t even get you to your destination that much faster. Maybe a minute, especially in cities and towns. Which is acceptable if you’re Jack Bauer, but otherwise just seems like a lot of fuss for nothing.
But we keep doing it. Rushing through, trying to get it finished before…well, that’s always the question, isn’t it? Before what? What cut-off awaits that you’re trying to outrace? Occasionally, you may find that it’s a real thing, and then you need to rush. You have to finish that paper before the due date tomorrow. You have to finish surgery before the patient bleeds out. You have to finish carving that pumpkin before the murder bees arrive and wreak vengeance on those who have been lax in their gourd-carving duties.
So, today, write me someone trying to do something in an awful gods-be-damned hurry. They trip, they stumble, they fuck it up…but they keep going. Because something important is riding on this, and they need to get it done.
Go forth, word-herders. And get it done.