“He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time.”
I seem to have inherited a mutated gene that controls my ability to comprehend or work under the constraints of time.
I’m pretty sure it’s a disability.
I may even qualify for some federal aid.
It couldn’t just be that I procrastinate. Or that I’m lazy.
I’ve got to be able to blame this on something else or someone else (THANKS, Mom and Dad!).
The thing is, I just don’t seem to operate like the rest of the population. At least the population of this country. I think I would fit in well somewhere like Spain, where showing up someplace on time is a cause for public ridicule. Maybe that’s it. I’m just a European at heart.
I guess when you think about it, I’m at least consistent. Consistently late for everything.
Doctor appointments. Church. Baseball games.
Updating my blog.
And just forget about actually sending something through the post office on time. I don’t know what it is about the USPS that intimidates me so much. Maybe those shorts the mail carriers wear in the summer. But I can never seem to mail anything on time. Ever. Oh, I can buy the birthday cards in time. Wedding cards? No problem–they were purchased on the eve of the engagement! Baby cards? Yup–the night the baby was conceived, I had the perfect card in hand. Bills? The checks have been made out for weeks. They just don’t seem to ever make it…to…the…….mailbox.
Do I enjoy paying late fees? Yeah-no. Am I fond of letting my friends and family down by neglecting their special life moments when they actually happen? Not really. Do I wonder why my long list of friends has dwindled down to a single name scrawled on the back of a gum wrapper with a question mark after it? Hmmm…..
Will I be banned from participating in the next Favorite Things Giveaway hosted by according to kelly…? Most probably. (Sorry, Krista! Your gift didn’t quite get postmarked by June 30…But I promise you’ll like it!)
Yesterday, Husband kindly (well, at least not angrily, anyway) paid my fine at the public library. $6.40! I decided to forego mentioning that Boy #2 and Boy #3 have fines on their accounts too…
Has anyone else looked at something for, say, 10 months, thinking, “I should really put that where it belongs”? Something like–I don’t know–maybe a lavender sweater that fell out of a bag of clothes you were giving away and then just remained in the back of your van like a permanent cotton-rayon stain? And didn’t get taken inside until your son finally cleaned out the van so you could pack to go camping?
It’s just that there always seems to be something else to do. Something else to think about. Some other fire I need to put out. (Or glass of wine I need to drink…Or post I need to write…)
I mean, why do we need to be so rooted in time? Why is it sooooo important that things happen according to schedule? Why can’t we just stop and smell the roses (or the garbage rotting in the garage because I’ve gotten it out to the curb late three weeks in a row)?
Am I making sense here–taking a stand against the status quo? Against the structure that’s been imposed on us by THE MAN?
Or am I just making excuses for being a disorganized hack?