I went to dinner tonight with our old friends Karen and Randy for some wonderfully tasty Italian food. Karen is the kind of charmer to whom everyone with a pulse is drawn; the hostess, bartenders, waiters , kitchen staff and owners were all fawning over her like she had been their prom date some magical long gone evening. It was very amusing and gratifying to trail along in her majestic wake.
It was also sweet of them to put up with me being late, again. I got ready plenty early, started reading and looking at the internet and pondering profound thoughts and suddenly the Late Fairy was working her magic.
It's always the same, I start out thinking "I'm going to need to go in a while" and suddenly switch over to "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm going to be late. Again." I seem to have some kind of chronological blind spot that allows the "Time to go" sweet spot to slide right past me. It was one of the few things that annoyed the ever sweet R Man. We wound up having plenty of discussions that involved the word "dawdling" as we were scrambling to get to whatever appointment I had made us late for. Again.
Alarms, schedules, nagging boyfriends: none of them work. It's like I see the time coming, fully prepared to get up and go, but at the neccessary point I am, instead, wondering about Barbie dolls or tacos or string theory or something and then, oops, late. Again.