The White Rabbit Complex

I’m not good at being on time. To pretty much anything. Ever. This has ALWAYS bothered me. I hate making people wait for me. I hate the annoyed, disappointed, and hurt looks on the faces of the people who have been affected by my inability to be punctual.
Being late to one event can destroy my entire day. If I’m late and I can tell someone is upset because I’m late, my mind kickstarts that classic record called All the Reasons I Suck Greatest Hits of the People I’ve Emotionally Damaged With My Lateness.
It’s a long list and it can play all day if I don’t force myself to turn it off.
Part of the problem is that being on time is not its own reward. Being on time is expected and ignored. No one gives you a sticker or a cookie for being on time. And sometimes you’re on time but no one else is. So mean. Being early is equally not cool. Being early means waiting and there is no value to waiting. Waiting is a form of unbearable torture. Waiting is the worst.
The biggest problem for me is that I can’t manage time. Not even a tiny little bit.
John Henry has been in school since August. I don’t know the exact date because dates are hard for me. I just learned John Henry’s birthday last year. You can judge me if you want to for not knowing the date a whole person was inside me and then came out but remember that I don’t give a fuck what you think about me. I used to think it was the 17th but then someone(my sister or my mom or my best friend) would say that seemed wrong so I’d look at his birth certificate and it would totally be the 19th. I was close. Two days is not a big deal. Get over it.
Since John Henry has been in school I take him to school in the morning at least three out of five days. I can get him to school on time at least one of those days.
I always have a schedule that I follow. Wake up. Make breakfast. Pack John Henry’s lunch and back pack. Give kid breakfast. Get kid dressed. Take kid to school.
Today John Henry was late because I told Tom I would get off work in time to take him. But I thought that Tom would get him ready. And I forgot to factor in the snow on the ground. There were other reasons but you will probably just call them excuses and I don’t want this to turn into an argument.
In summation, my inability to get John Henry to school on time is slowly chipping away at my will to live. It’s fucking my shit up.
Honestly, the only reason I get out of bed in the morning is because I’m still beating my brother’s record. Except I just realized that its probably only because I have that extra day. Fuck nugget.
Update: When I went to pick John Henry up at school his teacher let me know that he has been late to school 18 times since school started. That sounds like a lot.


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