My husband maintains that people who are chronically late have no respect for other people's time. He says this to me at least once a week and always with a terrible scowl on his face. But I think, no, I know, he is hopelessly confused and clueless about the whole cause-effect business on the "Better Late than Never" and "Never Is Always Better" syndromes. He actually tries to blame me for being late all the time, implying I could help it, one way or another, while simultaneously implying I have selfishly sinned against all humanity for "excessive tardiness."

Maybe I Should Move to Paris

The poor man, he is so often hampered in his understanding of complex people and events because of his dysfunctional "literalism," raw "realism," compulsive punctuality and hyper- organization. The importance of disorder and unpleasant-task-avoidance in a writer's life are completely lost on him. The French have a beautiful word for it, which I can't remember right now. But they are quite indulgent and appreciative of the loosey-goosey-ness of artists and writers.

As I write this, in his closet right now, every single shirt is on a hanger 3 inches apart from adjacent shirts, and the shirts, overall, present a pleasing, subtle gradient from one end of the color spectrum to the other. In my closet, most of the clothes are on the floor.

More dope on my little darling: The first thing he does in a hotel room (he travels a lot on business)? He unpacks his undies and socks and neatly arranges them in the anonymous, practically never used, hotel dresser. The undies have to go in the top drawer, and the socks have to go in the second drawer, light ones on one side and dark on the other. And he thinks I'm a behavioral deviant? I don't even know where any of my socks are. Moreover, I am confident that if and when I do need a sock or two, I will find them. For they do not have legs and they are here somewhere.

The Eternal Now and the Perpetual Present Tense

To the frequently and hopelessly tardy, one thing is paramount and that is, avoiding something they do not want to do. This powerful, even irresistible, urge completely eclipses all other considerations. For they really, really don't want to do whatever it is they are trying to avoid. The Thing, Activity or Obligation has become, essentially, a firing squad. It means certain death of some kind. More on this later( and I do plan to get around to it).

Once when he and I were away from home on a business trip, I was running deadly late to catch a flight to somewhere my husband and I had to go (together), a place I did not want to go "to." With my back up against a wall, imprisoned within the corner into which I had painted myself, I knew I had to, at last, "do" something.

So I pulled a little buddha on him. He had become speechlessly enraged at my hours of diddle-daddle dawdling, and his face was fiery red. He had stormed out of the room a couple of times, mumbling ultimatums under his breath. These are not good signs in him, generally speaking. They do not bode well for what is going to happen between us next.

The Dalai Lama on Punctuality

Propelled by a sudden inspiration, which I found brilliant, I mewed sweetly, faking calm and serenity: "Time is an illusion."A thunderous silence followed during which I almost died of fright. My darling stared at me long and hard in all my dishevelled-ness and upturned luggage, strewn with a chaos of clothing and cosmetics, as if he were looking at a dangerous wild animal. "Well, shoot, it's just not fair!" I cried, my final, last resort excuse for everything.

And as for the time thingy, I mean, the bloody Dalai Lama says this all the time and gets away with it, right?

Without a word, he turned on his heel and cruelly left for the airport without me. So what if I had no money or means of wending my little way home, which is where I really wanted to be?

Well, of course, this was an affront, an insult, both to me and the Dalai Lama. But method-wise, and measured by results, it was effective. I did not go where I did not want to go. And, by cunning and invention, I did get home under my own steam, as it were, and in my own good time.

Some Cultures Have No Verb Tenses Other than the Present

Where was I? Oh, yes. Right here.

So Far Today (It's just mid-afternoon, but I'm on a blue streak, I've built up good momentum, which should serve me well for the rest of the day) I have escaped my all-too-superficial, shallow and why-worry-about-it?it-it-may-never-happen responsibilities, duties and obligations by taking care of the real top-ten priorities in my life in these ways:

1. I returned my sister's spare ironing board which I've had for 9 months. It was way over-due and I could not stand looking at this accusatory object one minute longer.
2. While at my sister's residence, I consulted with her about a burning issue. To wit, what are we going to do for fun and adventure this weekend? And what did she think my hair would look like if I put a few blue highlights in it? And if I did, would she follow suit, as a gesture of solidarity and support?
3. I gave myself a good manicure. My nails were a mess.
4. I went to the FBI website in the off-chance they had de-classified any files they may have on me. There were none. Their surveillance of me, if indeed it exists (I'm not paranoid, just careful), is still top secret.
5. I checked thoroughly to see if there were any new government grants I was eligible for. Didn't find any.
6. I went to the http://www.rhymeme.com site for a little practice because I've got an idea for an Epic that I want to write in heroic couplets.
7. I practiced using the Microsoft Word and Google thingy for translating my writing into several obscure foreign languages. I have an intuition this going to be an important issue for me soon.
8. I sternly watched two men fix a flat tire in front of my house, just in case it was a ruse they were using to gain access to something or someone in the neighborhood. They're gone now, due in large part to my valorous, intensive "Crime Watch."
9. I went through the house on one of my "treasure hunts," looking for things I'd misplaced long ago. This is always surprising and sometimes delightful, especially if you look under the furniture. Also I always discover some yellowed barely intact sheet of paper, usually nasty form letters from impertinent institutions of one kind or another with no sense of humor whatsoever, referencing some top priority "Must Do or Else" action, which I escaped doing for so long they died from lack of attention and worrying over them.
10. I made a long "TO DO" List of everything I absolutely must do, no excuses etc., tomorrow, and stuck it on the fridge with a magnet. With luck, several items on the list will simply expire, lose their urgency and no longer require doing in 24 hours.

And, of course, there's this: An Apologia (a real genre, you know) Pro Vita Sua. Where is my Latin lexicon, anyway? I've been meaning to look up "Tempus fugit."

As the Roman poet Virgil said, Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus, singula dum capti circumvectamur amore, which means, "But meanwhile it flees: time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail."

So much for "Time's winged chariot." I really must go. It's late and I have things to do.