Late. The word — an adjective or an adverb — is now also a recurring theme in the story of my life. I find that amusing and ironic. Even though I came into this world relatively early ( about five weeks early to be exact) I seem to have made every effort since to make up for it. Whether it is to get out of bed, meet friends, return books at the library, pay bills, take the cupcakes out of the oven, pick up the mail, even meet up at work at some days (shame shame shame on me!) I find myself L A T E. It’s a wonder that I have, so far, never missed plane departures or other crucial deadlines that would really screw me up, and thus leave irreversible damage. However, even though I did miss the transport to a plane once (after a night of drinks with coworkers at my company’s annual party) I miraculously managed to enter the gate at an appropriate time.
Even my dreams are haunted by my inability to be on time. I constantly dream about missing weddings, dates, trains, planes, parties, boats, taxis…the list goes on and on. It’s usually about me not being ready in the sense of looks, in other words, I can’t find my shoes or I haven’t put on my make-up yet. Make-up!! Seriously, in a sleep created world, shouldn’t it be my right to not having to apply to the rules of exteriority? Shouldn’t my sole subconscious being exist flawlessly with the looks and abilities of Wonder Woman? I wish. But no, even in a fictitious world my failure to use a watch hinders me.
I hereby apply for a universal time that centers around me. That way I’d always be on time, awake or not.