It’s always the same scenario.

A deadline approaches.

I feel the sense of impending doom creep up my bones and trickle through my organs.

At this stage, I’m still hopeful I’ll be able to manage the work I still have to get done.

The clock keeps turning furiously. The days pass by and the mountain of work has yet to decrease.

As I inch ever closer the deadline, stress takes over every single cell in my body. I’m not myself anymore. I can’t focus on anything but work.

I stop laughing.

Smiles become scarce.

Entertaining conversations is a chore.

I stop answering messages.

I slowly turn into a most disagreeable human being.

Even though I’m overcome with stress, I still avoid the touching the work.

I avoid it.

I think about it but I fail to take any concrete steps that would decrease the load even marginally.

I poke it with a stick.

I inspect it thoroughly.

I analyse its every corner.

I think about it intensely.

I briefly take it for a waltz.

I try to stab the beast… and fail.

The clock keeps ticking. The stress keeps rising.

We’re reaching the ‘I’m absolutely fucked stage’.

Nightmares ensue.

The stock of Red Bull is rising.

I turn into the vilest version of myself.

I grab a metaphorical shotgun.

It’s time to kill the beast.

I activate what I call ‘ultimate work mode’

I attack the work like a mad man running on a cocktail of meth and steroids.

No one can talk to me.

I snap at the smallest of requests.

I become absolutely insufferable.

The work needs to get done.

I never miss a deadline (except for this SCAB).

Until the job is over, I will not sleep, I will not relax and I certainly won’t take it ‘easy’.

Is any of this healthy? Absolutely not.

Do I enjoy turning into the most disagreeable person in the History of Mankind? At times.

I can see the mountain of work eroding.

The light turns on at the end of the tunnel.

The prospect of finishing the work only increases my already sky-high levels of anxiety.

I down an espresso.

Run out for a redbull.

Down them both in an instant.

I only stop for cigarette breaks.

I am a man on a mission with a heavy nicotine addiction.

We’re now hours from the deadline.

I’m running on fumes.

My neck hurts like hell from being bent over my screen.

Every inch of my body is aching for me to take a break.

I can feel my immune system losing its strength.

My mind is foggy.

I have trouble finding my words.

My eyes are dry and my contacts are falling out.

I forgot to bring spare ones.

Things are about to get worse.

At last… the work is done.

I’m exhausted.

My throat is an ashtray.

My heart is skipping beats.

My bowel movements become unpredictable.

But I’m done. 
Mission accomplished.

If only I had managed my time properly, this hell could’ve easily been avoided…