Deadline…handing over control; an important thing when you’re not fully occupying your own mind.
Every year it happens.
The light changes. A quality of atmosphere begins to fade. Dread and anxiety well up from some place, dark and deep. Life around me drifts down to the hibernation state, becomes skeletal and subsides to a place just above death.
Today I left the dark confines of my Happy Place and had a Coming to the Jebus.
This happens every few years; trust me. It’s a fine-tuned piece of clockwork that gets out of sync, needing an equally fine-tuned piece of Norse, hammer technology to carefully bring it back into precise alignment. Even gentlemen in tailored day suits and monocles cannot predict it, nor can they prevent it. Despite the best scientists, regardless of the bones and tea leaves used to foretell its coming, the shit happens. You may know not “when” but you can plan bowel movements and bets around the certainty.