I don’t know how Parkinson managed to sabotage horse and wagon, but his work on the wheel brake was his worst effect. And, as I suggested, it’s not just the horse and wagon that are affected.
The bloke’s at work in my head, too:
For instance, the rational part of me says, “Jim, all things considered, (including those books you’re trying to finish), it’s time to stop the column.” But, of course, emotion in me says, “What? I’m past nine hundred columns now! Why not rein in at a thousand?”
“Because,” says reason, “you’re running out of energy and maybe time, to finish those books, buddy. You’re already like an old battery that won’t hold a charge.”
Well, I hate admitting it, but reason is right. And that’s why (shifting back to the analogy) I’m gently saying, “Whoa,” gently tugging on the reins, and gently depressing the brake.
We’re coming to a stop, friends. Right here, with this column, at the end of an 18th year of my writing to you.
But don’t think that I’m planning to clip-clop off, into the sunset. Crier Editor Jim Austin, my friend of so many years, has invited me to drop by a column every so often, just to keep in contact with you. And I will. After 18 years of talking with you, going cold turkey would bring withdrawal symptoms.
Thanks, friends, for giving me opportunity to become much more skilled at my craft. You’ve been such a gift to me!