Old habits die hard. It is just past 12 midnight, early Friday morning. The family’s asleep and I find myself at the laptop tap tap tapping away to file a piece of work. It’s like my days in Sunday Times, where my self-imposed deadline to give my editor my story before Friday mornings, would see me rushing to file stories on late Thursday to early Friday mornings.
It’s a speech I’m writing this time. “It’s for someone important,” said the university contact when I agreed to do the job. I later realised just how important and am rather stressed out by it. “Just write it like you write one of your columns,” advised my husband. I bit back my reply that it is far from writing one of my columns. But I’m strangely more settled after his advice. Maybe it’s his faith in me, maybe it’s his relaxed attitude. I’ll treat it like I’m filing a story. And it is rather like a story. Just that it’s a loong story, and will be delivered by someone.
Tomorrow will be another day. But before tomorrow comes, I’ll keep working at the story. And maybe, just maybe, not leave it until the last minute next time.