Being Late

I am petrified of being late. I think this stems from the fact that I spent my parental-control childhood being late to everything from sports practice to Church. Since I have gone up & away, I have lived my life in perpetual fear of arriving late to anything. Class, work, movies (especially movies, but I have the odd habit of desiring to spak up the aura of a theater long before the previews begin), I will arrive early for everything. I plan to be at least ten minutes early to get a good seat or just settle in. I hate walking in late; I think it's just bad form. I have a friend who is late to everything, especially class, though I often cover for her. That utterly PETRIFIES me!

Another theory: I am early to everything because I will probably leave in the middle of it to go to the bathroom. Perhaps the constant presence of my petrified state in the face of lateness damnation shocks my bladder into the size of a peanut. But this is another topic entirely.

I have another friend who is chronically late and everyone who knows him has gotten in the habit of telling him things start 45 minutes earlier than they actually do. He usually ends up being pretty on time for the main event.

My mother does not understand "We need to leave now." It inevitably becomes, "GET IN THE CAR RIGHT NOW OR I AM DISOWNING MYSELF." My dad's usually pretty good, unless I tell him we need to go somewhere and he forgets, and then it, of course, is my fault that I didn't remind him.

And as I sit and write this, I get nervous that I should start heading out because I have a class in 20 minues in a building 5 minutes away. Thus the fear descends.