Well I realize this won’t come as a surprise to anyone who has ever had to meet me anywhere. Ever. In my entire 22 years of life. But here it is…
I’m never on time. (And sometimes I lie.)
Like never ever.
It’s a problem. I didn’t even have to go to therapy to get to this place of acceptance. People try to make jokes like “you were probably late for your own birth.” A month early actually so there goes that extensively researched scientific theory we’ve all been clinging to.
When I was growing up, for as long as I can remember, my mom struggled with this same misunderstanding of time and how people adhere to it. To the point that she would change every clock in our house to a different time in an effort to help herself be early. Yes, every clock. And I grew up in Texas so we’re not talking a 2 bedroom, 1 bath condo in Wrigleyville. We’re talking about a Texas sized house with space for a formal dining room, informal dining room, family room, a bonus room (still confused by what that means because anything in Chicago that has more than two rooms is a bonus room).
In other words, a lot of rooms for a lot of clocks.
And here is how messed up this makes you. You’d wake up at 7:10 for school, rush downstairs thinking you were already 10 minutes late only to discover that a time warp happened in the last 30 seconds on your way to the kitchen because that clock now says 7:30. Realizing there definitely now wasn’t time for breakfast or a shower, you’d race back upstairs to the bathroom having just enough time to brush your teeth and discover that you somehow now gained back 45 minutes. I showed up to school sweaty and stressed out and wondering why I was the last one to arrive. That guy who drags himself into last place in a 5K walk/run knows exactly the humiliation I’m talking about.
Maybe that’s why I was never asked to Homecoming? Still need some serious psychiatry for those lovely high school memories.
Fast forward—for a solid year, I was in the clear after I had Emilyn. All my friends were late because they now had their first munchkin they had to take with them because of laws saying you can’t leave them home alone. But those late arrivals were short lived. Then they all had their seconds, thirds, fourths —how are you not alcoholics sobbing in a corner— and they’re still on time!
But here’s the other problem. I HATE structure, rules, suggested rules, even Do Not Enter signs beckon me to drive down just to see what exactly it is they’re trying to keep me away from. So you’re looking at a girl who rebels against structure, rules and isn’t on time. How in the world did I work for an attorney for 7 years.
Here’s the real truth behind those of us who are always late. We’re not trying to make a fashionable appearance but we did take the time to put on mascara which is part of why we’re late. We really did try to be on time. In fact, we’re super obsessed with checking the time because we think a time warp could happen at any moment gaining us another 30 minutes and this is why we think we have time to shower 10 minutes before having to leave. No, we don’t think our time is more important than yours. It probably is but we’d have to do a real comparison to confirm or deny that and who has time for that.
And as if I don’t have enough trouble getting anywhere on time, I decided to give up Coke starting last week. Just the caffeine form so we’re not talking major kudos here because I kicked any real drug addiction cold turkey, but still the kind of caffeine that makes you run in circles to make things happen when you’re already late. That’s what I gave up out of stupidity. So now I’ve transformed into a narcoleptic Eeyore.
And then there’s this girl who runs around here nonstop all day. And she hates structure. And she hates rules. And she rebels against order. And she has a mom whose never on time. We have nothing in common.
So help me, that girl will wear the biggest mum for Homecoming covered with obnoxious teddy bears, cowbells, ribbons, bows, rare diamonds, every stinkin’ year of high school. It’ll save her some money in therapy.
