This post isn’t about global Armageddon, so I’m sorry to disappoint if that was what you were looking for. No, this is about my adventures on New Year’s Eve, in one of the closest “cutting it so fine as to be graphene-thick” moments I’ve ever had.
My OCD got the better of me, and I was stuck in a loop of complete inertia. I needed to complete my chores to perfection, but knew that it wasn’t possible. And so I collapsed into a mess of mental compulsions and avoidance.
|I had been invited to a close friend’s New Year’s party, and there are certain expectations that one will be present at the required time. Well I tried to hard to leave my pit of procrastination, and finally summoned the energy at 2330. I got in a taxi at 2337, and had a lovely chat with my driver, who was quite pleased that I’d chosen him, as my route took him to near his home – so he could look in on his family just after 12 (I love beautiful coincidences like this). Trouble is, neither him nor my friend live particularly near to me, so this was literally going to be a race against the clock.|
Let’s just say that the driver got me there rather, ahem, efficiently. I wasn’t keeping my eye on the speed, but it felt an awful lot like the 88 mph needed to transport me to the correct dimension to wish a happy new year to my mates. Regular text updates on my location were sent en route, and Google’s ETA fluctuated between 2359 and 0002. I was going to miss it.
But no. I rang ahead as we turned on to my friend’s road, and I was greeted at the front door with a glass of prosecco and ushered in to the kitchen just in time for the obligatory snog and Auld Lang Syne. 2358. Two minutes to midnight.