My Week of Being Early.

Or my week of trying to be early. Or my week of being less late. Or my week of really wanting to be early but really just a week of learning how much I suck at it.

They say the early bird gets the worm, which maybe is why I have never seen the point in being early. Maybe if they said the early bird gets the pizza or cheesecake or something the thought would have appealed to me more. Who wants a worm, really? Unless it’s a gummy worm. One of those sour gummy worms, maybe. That wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.

I got to class last night, and as usual, scanned the room to find the single open seat, the one, of course, in the waaaaaaaaay back of the room, the one that would require me to bump and jostle all of my classmates along the way.

Excuse me, sorry, excuse me, sorry, sorry, whoops, just need to get by a little bit, sorry…

I slid in as the professor was in full swing and tried to muffle the sounds of taking out my notebook, my pen, no the other pen, my water bottle (cling, clang- damn metal water bottles), slide off my jacket, pick it up from the floor, pick it up from the floor again, open my notebook, find the right section, find a blank sheet of paper, begin writing, discover this pen is out of ink, rustle through my bag for another pen…and on and on. About fifteen minutes into class I finally got my shit together.

This is the story of my life. A fly by the seat of my pants, pull things together at the last minute, hope no one notices my wrinkled pants or the crumbs on my shirt way of life.

I fumed at myself last night. Why? Why must I be so last minute? Other people seem to be able to tell time. Hell, much like other people, I even own a watch. But that doesn’t mean I let it tell me what to do. Actually, the only thing I really use my watch for is to time my runs. The second I walk in the door from a run, I hastily wrench it off of my wrist and fling it somewhere. Only to have to track it down the next day when I am lobbing running shoes and pacifiers across the living room in an effort to find it and hurry up because I have to leave now or I will my miss running window and oh my god where the hell is my watch and why can’t I EVER find it? Damn it.

So planning is not my forte.

And neither is being on time. But last night on my way home from class, I told myself, self, you have to start being on time to things. You have to. Imagine what it would feel like to be one of those people who arrive early to things. Who get to class with plenty of time to pull out their notebook, their pen, no their other pen, their water bottle (cling, clang- damn metal water bottles), slide off their jacket, pick it up from the floor, pick it up from the floor again, open their notebook, find the right section, find a blank sheet of paper, begin writing, discover their pen is out of ink, rustle through their bag for another pen. Maybe you could chat up a few classmates. Maybe have time to review the syllabus. Maybe leisurely sip coffee or write the date on your notes.

What would it feel like to do this before the professor is lecturing? How would it feel to get to class with plenty of time to stop off at the ladies room before making my way to class and have enough time to wipe the sweat off my brow from my sprint from the car? Or maybe not even have to sprint from the car? What would that even be LIKE? So I decided that for one week, I would try things differently.

For one week, I would not just be on time to things. For one week, I would be early to things. Early to work. Early to class. Early to appointments. Early to meetings.

Early. As in, not late.

Early, as in plenty of time to use the bathroom and consequently not have to do the pee-pee dance during class. Early, as in not rushing through the door after the meeting has started and apologizing profusely for being late. Early, as in leaving home with enough time to find parking, because, yes, Missy, if you are driving, you just might have to park the car somewhere, and that just might involve looking for and finding a spot. There might even be some walking involved from said parking spot. There just freaking might.

Here’s how it is going so far.

Day One: That was this morning. I’d like to say that I started my week of being early to everything with a bang. But no. It was a pretty big failure.

I failed to realize that getting to work early was more than a sentiment. It meant actually getting out the door earlier and that meant actually waking up earlier. WTF? I slept until my usual time, looked at the clock in horror because how the hell was I going to get into the office early now? Threw a lunch together (I think I brought an egg- quite possibly an uncooked one, a pickle and a packet of mustard, because I am on top of things), and raced around the condo looking for a pair of shoes and a bra and a travel mug to pour coffee into.

I was not early.

I was, in fact thirty-six minutes late.

Day one, not so good. But what I learned was that:

1) I need to wake up before I want to leave the house. Like for instance, if I want to get to work by 8:30, I will need to wake up before 8:30.
2) I often eat during the day. I often eat a meal called “lunch”. Because “lunch” has become a common theme, I may want to pack it the night before, so that I do not end up with raw eggs and pickles for lunch.
3) Just deciding that I want to be early to things does not actually make me early to them. I need to do stuff earlier if I want to be early.

I know this is confusing. I am still sorting it out in my own head.

I will let you know how tomorrow goes. But no matter what, I am not eating any worms. Unless it’s a gummy worm. Maybe if its one of those sour gummy worms…