Deadline

It's got to get done. Done now. Quickly. Now.
When I was younger, I used to think that I could do my best work under pressure. Not so much now. When it gets down to the wire, I get stressed. I can't think. I don't know what I'm doing. Things don't get done.
Done. Now. Soon. Fifteen minutes.
Now, this project. I started it a while ago, but I couldn't focus. I put it off and put it off. The real world doesn't work like that. You can't just put things off until the last moment, hoping that it'll all come out alright. You can't hope that by some miracle, it'll all get done.
Done. Time running out. Thirteen minutes.
When I started, I thought I had all the time in the world. As much time as I needed. I didn't need to focus right away. I could slough off and wait a week, a month, a year as I got my things organized. I didn't know my deadline could be changed. I didn't know I wouldn't be done.
Done. Got to hurry. Eleven minutes.
Alright, fine. I'm old. I'll admit it. I don't work as quickly as I used to. When I was younger, I could run through my whole life, every major event, every person, every act, every deed in just a few minutes. Maybe it's because I've lived more, maybe because I think slower, maybe because I'm easily distracted, but now, it takes me a lot longer to go through my thoughts like that. I've got to stay focused. Got to get on track. Got to get it all done.
Done. Not fast enough. Ten minutes.
I'm not going to get it finished, and there's nothing I can do about it. There are no extensions here. Not in the real world, not when it matters. It only matters once. You'd think I'd have been prepared. Not so. There's so much left to do. So much that isn't done.
Done. No way. Not going to make it. Nine minutes.
Time's speeding by. There's so much left to do. So many things left to explain, to describe, to cite. My report isn't even close to complete. If I had checked in more often, gone to see my boss every few weeks with a progress report, I'd me much better off. I've got nothing now. How am I going to be able to go to my boss with my life's work incomplete? I'm not ready, but he won't make an exception. It's got to be done.
Done. Not yet. Eight minutes.
I should have done more with the time I had. Well, more of some things, and less of others. I guess that's why I'm here now. Too much of the things I shouldn't have done. Too much drinking, too much partying, too much having a good time. Not enough work or enough focus on what's important in life. Not enough focus on my task. If I had focused more, I wouldn't need to rush to get it done.
Done. Not much time left. Six minutes.
Time seems to be going so much faster. People say time slows down when you get to this point, but I don't think so. Maybe it's because I'm still not finished. I don't want it to be done.
Done. The end is coming. Five minutes.
Not everything I did was too bad, though, was it? Do I really have to consider the things I could have done but didn't? That time I could have helped that guy on the street? Those decent clothes I threw away instead of donating to charity? All my waste, all the things I overlooked? These things just make my penance longer, and will make it so I can't get it done.
Done. What do I do? Three minutes.
I just need to make an account of everything I've ever done wrong. How hard is that? It's hard at the end of your life. Looking back at all the things you've done, failed to do, thought about doing. I've got to think really hard about this. There's so much ground to cover. So much I need to say. What have I done?
Done. Dear God. Two minutes.
Wait. My boss is compassionate. He will forgive me. He doesn't stay angry for long. I will be safe. As long as I apologize for my transgressions, I'll be fine. That's all I need to do. I'm done.
Done. Peace.