It's half-eleven, I'm already shagged out, and I've really got to finish this damn story by the morning. Got got got. Or I will cordially hate myself all day tomorrow.
Why do I respect self-imposed deadlines more than the externally imposed variety? I mean, I can certainly work to externally imposed deadlines, even blatanly ludicrous, pulled-out-of-a-manager's-earhole deadlines. I just don't get all emotional about it.