As you can see, I can be very reasonable and logical about things, but as you can also see, it does no good.
This thing – this illness – makes its appearance around the 15th of December and you find me at the corner of my room waving my hands up and down in sheer terror.
Of What, you ask. Of the End of the year, I say.
This happens every December. (I had analysed it a few years ago. Read Caught Unawares Again.)
I don’t know whence it came and wherefore it exists, but so it is. It progresses quickly. There is no sign or symptom when December is born and the rest of the world prepares for “the holidays”.
(Read here about another weird illness of mine: ATM Phobia. Yes, I am a sick, old woman.)
This year also it started around the 15th – but I had been too terrified to actually blog about it.
It is as though the deadline (for whatever) is on the 31st December. I suppose after a lifetime of facing deadlines – from homework to exams to bedtimes to playtime to dinner time to reading time to TV time to life-and-death matters like software delivery – this is to be expected.
The strange thing is that (and I assume it is very ‘human’) when I have more work to do, the more I am interested in doing something else, so that I can panic and panic to my heart’s content. (If I finish all the work, the panic will go, right? I love to panic. It’s complicated.)
For instance, right now I have about ten emails with red-stars waiting for me (oh, I flag them with red stars just to make sure I begin the day with a panic attack) and instead of attending to them, here I am adding finishing touches to this blog. Now if you will please excuse me, I need to go to my corner of the room and panic in peace.