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Saturday, May 4, 2013

By the Seat of My Pants

Funky Winkerbean, 1989
I am never on time for anything.  This is a character flaw, I suppose, or an endearing quirk, depending on how you look at it.  I don't like to be early and I don't like to wait.  Therefore, it is my personal preference to sweep in when all of the formalities are finished and get right down to business.  I have read books and articles that suggest that this is incredibly offensive to other people, and shows a blatant disregard for the time and efforts of others to be punctual.

I swear, it's not personal.  It's not a lack of respect or affection that causes me to be late.  I simply cannot get out of my own way.  I can't leave what I am doing and budget enough time to get somewhere when I am supposed to be there.  I thrive on racing down the road, applying my makeup at stop lights (you don't know how bad it is when there isn't one red light between here and there) and tearing in the door at the twelfth hour.

The one time I was 'on-time' was the day of my wedding, much to the shock and surprise of everyone.  I'd say including me, but that's not true.  I was ready to get the show on the road and excited and scared all at the same time.

Today,  I am part of the Providence production of Listen to Your Mother.  It is somewhat of a daring thing for me -- not to be bold enough to speak out loud in front of an audience, that is, but to do it with a personal essay.  That's not my usual thing.  

So, I have made arrangements to be there on time.  Actually, super early.  I am headed into town hours before curtain time and doing errands nearby in preparation.  Much like my wedding day - there are nails, hair, makeup and dressing to be done.  It takes a village to pull my ass together.

I am anxious and excited...just like my wedding day.  Just like the mornings that my children were born.  Hungry and nauseous.  Tired and alert.  All the yins and all the yangs. 

Today, I will not be just making it.  No skin of my teeth.  No nick of time.  Not by the seat of my pants.  You won't have to wait for it.  It won't be 'fashionably' anything.  (No, seriously. I won't be fashionable at all.)

I will be there.  With bells on.  Right on time.
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