The Lure of the Eleventh Hour, like, literally.
The things I do to keep up, to just about keep up with how I want things to turn up, end up and to just be around me. Time flies unlike anything else and I am left clutching at whatever l’il thoughts and wits and feelings I have. No one really to say to but then I guess there is an uneasy calmness to that as well. No one to judge and no one judges.
So, the eleventh hour is of course when everything is left for the last possible moment, when you go all gung-ho to salvage and scavenge and snatch at whatever is there for you, meant for you. That synthetic pride of fulfilling with the merest of actuality is closure for me. They take several forms in real activities too, like assignments that get completed and submitted just inside the window. You’re technically there but then, are you really? Not so much.
The lure of this is what is driving me right now to complete writing this and put it up before the day ends. So, sense or no sense, I simply have to. Coz for me the matter of it hardly has to matter, not today at least. Today just has to be the beginning of the cracking of a cocoon. That synthetically derived form of closure? That’s what I am after. It’s funny how “getting started” could give me that closure.
