She has never missed anyone's deadline but her own

There's something she wants to do. Nothing grand, nothing that needs anyone's permission. It's just that three years have gone by and it's still sitting there, not started.

The work other people hand her is never late. Every line crossed off, every box ticked, on time to the point that nobody has to remind her. There's exactly one line at the bottom of the list that has never been crossed off — the one she wrote for herself. It turns out the only deadline she lets slide is her own.

Eleven at night is when her turn comes. One hour left before the day runs out, and she sits down with the most tired part of it — the alert part was sold off in the morning, to things that weren't hers. This morning's coffee is still there, gone cold. Her eyes sting, and she stays a little longer anyway.

End of the month, her mother calls to ask how things are going. The pay comes in, a share goes home, rent goes out, and what's left isn't much. She's already done the math: one month off and her mother stops sleeping. So she says she's fine, quietly puts the rest in a drawer, and doesn't explain.

Staying isn't fear. It's so my mother can sleep.

The drawer closes, and a seam of light stays behind. That deadline she finally set for herself — have you ever set one for yours?