Hi Ho, Hi Ho. Off to Meet A Deadline we Go.

Big moment.

The many words I’ve written on many pages are going off to be sent off and scrutinised, discarded, red-carded, rearranged and tut-tutted. Or as commonly known, edited. I am going full adult. Hiring professionals. Getting invoiced.  Peeps, I’ve been given a DEADLINE.  I’ve adulted myself right in the kahunas.

My life with a DEADLINE, began as any good story does, with an innocent, oblivious protagonist skipping tra-la-la along the way, sucking on rainbow lollipops (literally made out of rainbows) and singing to the bluebirds (literally birds that are blue) who follow her around and feed her pieces of Cadbury Dairy Milk Lamington chocolate, which is rarer than unicorn rainbow tears and the only exciting thing about the Olympics.

Put it back on the shelves, Cadbury, for the love of god.

Life is good in La-La Land.

Our protagonist *cough* me, has conversations like this –

Stranger who looks a lot like Tom Hiddleston –  ‘Well goodness gracious me, what a fine looking deadline you have there, Miss Incredibly Attractive Person.’

Me – ‘Why, thank you Equally Incredibly Attractive Person. I made it myself. Isn’t it a beauty?’

We chit-chat a while, then I head off and studiously avoid thinking about that deadline.  I develop a deep-set desire to create a crocheted replica of a much loved dog I lost two years ago. In miniature.

My name is Sam. I am adorable. Love mini-me.

I take a self defense class.

No, kind sir, you cannot have my hat. Be gone with you.

And do a bit of cooking –

Onion soup with splinter croutons it is.

After a relaxing hike, I am ready to DEADLINE.

Which is extremely fortunate as I now have the grand total of one day to get 92k words ready to be scrutinised, discarded, red-carded, rearranged and tut-tutted. Or as commonly known, edited.

Breathing is oddly difficult today. Must be the Melbourne air. And I’m pretty sure that knot in my belly is last night’s bean chilli.

I’m run to my desk, knuckles cracking, coffee ready, internet De-internetted (commonly known as switched off) when I’m blocked by that bastard again.

Stranger who looks a lot like Tom Hiddleston –  ‘Well goodness gracious me -”

Me – ‘Piss right off  Hiddes. No one wants to see your dreamy goodness right now. I’m adulting. Get out of my face.’