Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
The short heel of my boots makes speedwalking across the snow a little dangerous.
The cars whizzing past me aren’t helping.
I was supposed to be there by 6:30.
She’s going to be so angry. Why do I always do this?
It’s 6:55. The movie is starting.
Oh, my god, I SUCK. Where am I? How far am I?
Christ! How did I forget about Central Park?! Oh I’ll just walk across a few blocks, I don’t need to take the subway. Biggest miscalculation of your life Bell.
I can’t feel my thighs. Wow, it’s much colder than I thought. Do I have gloves in my bag? A hat? A scarf? What’s wrong with me it’s January!
Wow, my hands are cold.
I see lights. Ok, good, so there’s a street up there. How many more until Broadway? Where am I going?
Oh she’s going to hate me. She just hates me, what is WRONG with me. I knew ALL day what time I had to be here. I looked at the clock and said, ‘Ok, have to leave in ten minutes.’ Twenty minutes later, I don’t even have my shoes on. Seriously.
I’m on Broadway. Ok, where is this place?
“Ok, I’m on Broadway and 64th, but I don’t know where I am, I can’t find it. I can see the Lincoln Center…”
“It’s the Lincoln Plaza, not the Lincoln Center.”
Ohhhh her tone. Oh my God, she’s so angry. She has every right to be angry, I’m so, super late.
“I know, I know, I just can’t see it…”
“Across from the Starbucks, there’s a…”
“Oh! Oh! I see it, I see it!! Ok! I’m coming down!”
Ugh, I don’t even want to see the look she’s going to have on her face. Disappointing her is like disappointing my mother. I hate it. It’s the worst. I’m such a bad person. Oh my God.
Oh, her face.
“Here.” she hands me my ticket.
I start sputtering, I’m sorry, if it makes you feel any better I just walked through central Park.”
“You knew what time to be here, I told you 6:30 all day.”
Ok, this is the time where I just don’t talk. There’s nothing I can say but, “I’m sorry” and let’s be real, that gets pretty freaking old. Especially when you know me.
My family makes fun of me. My friends make fun of me. I’m late. Not a lot, just, all the time. Always, always late.
It’s the only state that I know how to arrive in.
Sometimes I’m fashionably late. Those are the good days. Usually I’m just late. When I wrote this blog, I legitimately kept a running tally of when I was on time.
I’ve made progress, probably because I have to for work, but still, I have. I (almost) always clock in by the time I’m supposed to.
I don’t really understand. When I have/had classes in college, I wasn’t just early, I was like 10-15 minutes early. (If I was going to be late I just didn’t go because the idea of walking in late in front of an entire class petrified me.)
Every other aspect of my life? Late.
Late for buses. I’ve missed flights. I’m late to parties, movies, dinner. It’s rare that I’m the first to arrive – but when it is I feel a ping of pride and joy, like I’m 3 years old and getting a little pat on the head, “Good job baby! Good job!”
I want to be more conscious of time and understand how to plan my day and use my time more wisely. I have improved, in little ways. I know exactly when to leave my apartment to be on time for work. Google tells me about how long it will take to get to a certain place. That’s pretty helpful. I know that cleaning my room now will only take a few minutes, not an entire lifetime. (Merci à la souris.)
Why do I want to change this about myself? Because it’s makes me look like i don’t care about the people or things that I’m late to. I love Em, but I almost made her late for a movie she really, really wanted to see. That’s not fair. That’s not at all fair to her.
I’ve told friends, “I’ll be right there.”
1 hour later.
Sometimes it’s my fear of telling them what’s keeping me waiting. “Well, to be honest, I haven’t been doing so well lately. I cry a lot and can barely get out of my bed. So, I’ve been moving slower. It’s not that I won’t be there, it just takes more for me to will myself to move.”
Those are the times when I’m really late here (as in, while living in New York City, or anywhere away from home). When I’m feeling so lonely and isolated that I just curl more into myself. I become nervous, restless, paranoid and insecure. I often become very teary.
“Sorry, I’m going to be about 20 minutes late because I’ve been crying for absolutely no reason at all and need to wait until there is absolutely no evidence of it on my face, because I don’t want you to know, because discussing it will only make me cry more. More crying will mess up my make-up.”
Sometimes I can make it a joke, “What can I say, I was 7 days late being born, I’ll probably be late to my own funeral too.”
They usually don’t get it.
So I suppose there are two changes that need to happen. If I’m going to be late – which I inevitably will be. I need to be honest about why.
I would like to NOT be late. I’m not entirely sure how to change that, but for the sake of my friends and family, and any one else who I may upset or hurt by being late, I need to find a way to change it. I have a planner, sometimes that helps.
To those that I have upset by being late, it’s not that I don’t love you. It’s not that I disrespect you. Seriously, it’s not you, it’s me.
I’m working on it.
Merci à la souris. Thank you to the mouse.