Addicted to the last minute rush

Tell me I will outgrow this.

I glance at my phone and it’s one o’ clock. Television aerial guys – come and been. Laptop, lipstick, both bits of my driver’s license, my test appointment letter – all in my long-suffering Ollie and Nic wonder bag. Time to leave.

Except my phone is about to die and I can’t find a physical Bristol map anywhere. Crud. Victim once again to my total lack of direction. Not to worry, not worry. I’ll just charge it up for, say ten minutes.

I need the time to read the “Accidents & Emergencies” section of the DSA Theory Test book anyway. Section finished. It’s eighteen past. Oops. Good thing I’ve left loads of time to get to the exam centre.

How about a last look at the appointment letter. What?! The test is at 2.00pm not 2.30?! I’ve even written the correct time in my iPhone calendar. Bad word. Bad word for using bad word. Must unlearn bad words before end of May.

Grab keys, lock up, run up to bus stop, ignore SPD, pray pray pray that there’s no traffic. Get there AT 2.00pm. Take test, chest still heaving, convinced I’m messing it up (this bit could have something to do with my basically cramming the whole thing between last night and this morning).


Sheer, pure, utter relief.

Image: sangeight

[she/her] • writer • unschooler • team Soul Farm • Revillaging podcast • breastfeeding counsellor • Trinidadian in Cornwall

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