Dear Journal: The Last Second

Dear Journal,

There’s this place where things often get done, a place so popular it should claim some web space and make a killing. It’s called The Last Second, and I honestly can’t stand it. Of course, if not for The Last Second not much would get done around here, or many other places for that matter. But The Last Second isn’t the best place to get things done, at least from personal experience.

Of course I’m one of those people who likes to get things done early, and then I’m stuck waiting around for all those people who take their time, who seem to like The Last Second, who bow to it like it’s some kind of god, or some kind of urban myth they want to prove exists. And that’s true for most everything. Want tickets to a Bon Jovi concert? I got them the second they were put on sale. Now I’m selling them to you for three times what I paid because you’re desperate. And the list goes on.

But I was one of those people who got stuck at The Last Second this past weekend. Maybe I’m shouldering more of a load than I thought it was going to be, but there I was on Saturday night when it suddenly hit me. I had a five-page paper due, and the deadline was the 11th, which just happened to be midnight that very night. It was squarely in The Last Second territory, and I mentally kicked myself for letting it get to that point. But I soldiered on, and I escaped unscathed in the end. Well, unscathed except for my pride.

Because pride disappears in the face of The Last Second. Only desperation thrives there, and I was as desperate as it gets on Saturday night. But by Sunday morning I was back where I belonged, and I promised myself never to visit the land of The Last Second ever again. At least I hope I don’t.

Sam