There is a reason the word dead is in deadline. It’s because you practically kill yourself trying to meet an arbitrary time frame. When you do, there is rarely any clamor. Perhaps a high-five or two (do people still high-five?). Usually though just silence. Thick and still. Dark and quiet. Silence. As though defying time, giving up sleep, food and social contacts is ordinary behavior. Because deadlines are important. More important than you are, no doubt.
After the deadline is met, you become dead. The work is done and handed over. Until or unless there is more work you don’t exist. Nobody is thinking about your deadlines. To pay the electric bill or the rent. That you might need to feed yourself or perhaps the cat. That cars do not run on empty. Really? No shit.
Your gotta haves and need it nows gotta wait and get it later. Cuz see…the deadline is met. And you? Dead tired. Dead broke. Dead wrong. You’re… just… dead.
copyright 2009
Where is Christine’s deadline taking her?
Anita Rodgers Mystery Writer 