i know how the white rabbit feels.

I'm late, I'm late
For a very important date
No time to say "Hello", "Goodbye"
I'm late, I'm late, I'm late

I run and then I hop hop hop.
I wish that I could fly.
There’s danger if I dare to stop,
and here’s the reason why

You see, I’m overdue,
I’m in a rabbit stew.
Can’t even say goodbye, hello
I’m late, I’m late, I’m late

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1865)
by Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

It’s a fact. I am late. All. The. Time. I can't help it. I try. It's not like I do it on purpose. But about 87% of the time or more I'm not on time. It happens. Expect it to.

The other day Jess pointed out that sometimes she wants to say "yes, I am late. Always. You know this. Deal." And I'm not talking about important things, like being late to a wedding, or being 30 minutes late to a one-hour lunch date, or missing planes dues to lateness. We're talking about 5-10 minutes late here. Traffic late. I couldn't decide on shoes late. I needed to feed the cats late. Yeah. Do I get annoyed at you because you have an annoying laugh, or a poor sense of the proper length of pants, or a dry sense of humor, or because you tend to complain or get stressed or your shoes are always coming untied? Nope. I notice it. I realize it. But it's just a thing about you--it's a part of you--and maybe it's one that you only kind of have control over and really isn't worth fixing. And maybe, maybe, it’s part of what makes you you.

Now, I’ve recently realized this annoys me more than I though. Probably 'cause I'm sensitive after things like beach week Sunday morning packing when everyone else was ready at 850 even though we didn't have to check out until 1000, and Otto and I were being hurried for twenty minutes--we were out at 915--a full forty-five minutes early. Their hurrying maybe made our departure time a full five minutes earlier, but worsened my "i'd rather be sleeping" attitude by at least 50%). Things like this are the extreme, mind you. But once I actually had someone order lunch without me because I was seven whole minutes late—SEVEN—and I’d called them twice to let them know I was almost there. This person wasn’t on a schedule, either. I think they had three hours before they had something else to do. THREE HOURS. And they couldn’t wait seven minutes. It was quite a long time ago, but it annoyed me then.

I would also like to point out that it would be a severe case of the pot calling the kettle black if I weren’t at least a little apologetic about being late. And I am. It’s not like I like being late. As a matter of fact, the only thing I prefer to be late to is big parties where I won’t know many people—and even then it’s not like I’m that late or I’m inconveniencing someone.

And actually, I hate it that I’m late. It’s not fun to annoy other people unless you’re doing it on purpose—and I’m not. I wish people could realize that instead of pestering me--or anyone else for that matter.