I seem to have been inspired by some of these minutia-of-love-life-chronicling blogs, and since my love life is, well, not that exciting to the outside world, I've chronicled my morning for you. The funny part about that is, my morning was not that interesting. My mornings rarely are. But the humanity, the tragedy, the irony, the intrigue, the pathos of a life-long struggle that underlies the minutia...that is interesting. How an intelligent, self-possessed, poised, ladylike college grad can devolve with one, two, three punches of the Snooze button. Budding anthropologists - perhaps psychologists, even - this is for you.

This morning...

-I got up late. Not unusual. Technically I should get up around 6:45 to give myself ample time to shower, iron my clothes, get dressed, eat breakfast, pack a lunch and leave by 7:30. Or perhaps do most of that stuff the night before, leaving only breakfast and dressing in the morning. However, for reasons unknown, I never do any of those things the night before. Generally I'm up around 7, and everything takes longer than I think it will, but I'm still out by 7:40 and I can half-walk, half-trot to work and get there by 8. Today I got up at 7:10, and somehow that threw everything off big-time.

-Forgot to take my toothbrush into the shower with me, which means I almost forgot to brush my teeth, not remembering until halfway out the door. Which may not seem like a big deal, but I get into these weird habits that become part of my routine, and when I forget them, the whole routine is thrown off. Things have to be done in sequence, or I mess them up. I have been known to put my shirt on backwards in the morning. It happens a lot.

-Took a 10-minute shower. I seem to be incable of taking fast showers, even in the direst of time-crunches. Anyone who has shared living space with me will attest.

-My right contact refused to stick to my right eye. Minus 5 minutes. My contacts, well-behaved as a rule, generally refuse to stick to my eyes only when I am already running late.

-I picked this morning to make myself a super-deluxe lunch, including a hard-boiled egg (which Matt very graciously put in the pan for me today, actually), a bunch of grapes (had to wash and dry them first of course), and a ham/spinach/cucumber sandwich on whole wheat with mayo and mustard. Not sure what I was thinking, but at least I'm looking forward to lunch today. Minus 10 minutes.

-Couldn't for the life of me decide what to wear. Not an uncomon occurence. Minus 10 minutes.

-I'm going through a trauma phase with my hair. Of course I had to take a few precious moments to blow-dry it. Yet another form of proof that when I'm late, I lose all sensibility. (Since I'm always late, does that make me permanently senseless?) Minus 5 minutes.

-Couldn't fit everything into my purse, and had a silent mini-tantrum involving dumping all contents of my purse on the floor before stuffing it all back in (still didn't quite fit). Matt threw up his hands and retreated to another room.

-Almost 7:50. The latest I have ever left my apartment to get to Georgetown by 8. (It takes about a half an hour.) I opted for Pumas - putting the casual into business casual, I always say! heh heh - and sprinted to the metro faster than I would have thought possible while sporting a skirt and an overflowing purse.

-Arrived at the metro at 7:52, skidded into the orange line train only to hear over the P.A. system, "Attention passengers, this train will stand by for a short time." Precious seconds are ticking away!

-7:56 the train took off.

-8:01 I arrived at my stop, a half-mile walk ahead of me. I'm supposed to be at my desk at 8:00.

-Another record-breaking sprint. I was glad I'd worn the Pumas...even though I looked dorky, they made it easier and faster than navigating in heels or mary janes. Almost lost the mary janes (stuffed into the purse, hanging on for dear life at the top..you didn't think I was going to sport the Pumas all day, did you?) a few times. I held on to the bulging purse for dear life and sprinted like...Pocahontas.

-My carefully-coiffed coif damp again from sweat and humidity, sweat beading on my face and dripping down my neck, I arrived at the building at 8:08. Was stopped by the security guard and asked for ID. They never stop me. Of course they did today. Of course my wallet was at the very bottom of my overflowing, spiffy new brown floral corduroy bag. Had to explain the temp thing, show my driver's license and sign in. Anywhere I go in the world, if I do get stopped by "security", the security guards I get stopped by tend to sport blank looks on their faces, and boast a talent for repeating the same words over and over with a little variation. "You don't have a badge? You need a badge." Me: "They won't give me a badge, I'm a temp." Guard: "You need a badge. You can get a badge. You should get a badge." I would not like them in a box. I would not like them with a fox. Yeah, that's what it's like.

-Reached my destination at 8:12.

This may seem anticlimactic...it's just that I hate being late. And I've managed to avoid it thus far, at this job anyway. Partially because people who hire temps almost expect them to be flaky, i.e. scamper in at 8:12, and I really want to prove them wrong.

But I'm not proving anyone wrong. And it's a lifelong habit. I'm always just a little bit late. I can remember having to sit at the lunch table with my head down during recess because I was late so often, my teacher didn't know what else to do and my mother had already told her to punish me because it was my fault I was late.

That was in kindergarten.

Matt and I still haven't made it to our ward in Arlington on time. We're the people who take the sacrament in the foyer and then slip into the back of the chapel after the deacons sit back down. We even did this last Sunday, when we went to the 1 PM ward.

And I'm fascinated by the irony of it all. Because though I hate being late, I also hate doing any of the things that keep one from being late - i.e., going to bed early, getting up early, or doing anything quickly in the morning (besides run between metro stops).

My freshman year in high school - the advent of early-morning seminary in my life - my patient, kind, punctual, loving, bribing dad promised me he'd take me out of school for a day to go skiing, if only I'd make it to seminary on time for 30 days in a row. I had never been skiing. I had always wanted to go, especially with my dad, who used to take Bonny, Harry and Phoebe all the time when they were kids, and I was teal with jealousy when I saw those old family photos they'd snapped on the slopes.

Never went skiing. Never ONCE made it on time to seminary for more than 5, 10 days in a row, tops.

And our seminary met at 6:45!! Other early-morning seminarians have scoffed at me. "Amateur." In my own stake other seminary classes met at 6:30, 6, 5:45. The truth is, though, I probably would have been late if seminary met at 9. I just didn't feel the pressure.

Why is this? Even if I go to church at 1, I'm still late. Even if I got a job that started at 1, I would probably still be late. I have battled this personal shortcoming for 16 years. Perhaps longer; maybe I had the problem before kindergarten.

The sad thing is though, apparently I'm not battling it. Because it's still happening. And I'm a grown-up. My parents used to warn me about this when I was 5, 6, 13, 17. "Some day when you're grown up, you'll have a real job where you have to be on time, and then you'll be in big trouble for being late!"

That someday is now. I haven't gotten in big trouble yet, but I resort to skedaddling through busy city intersections, dodging bike couriers, savvy career women in pointy-toed heels, and tiny, tiny dogs on leashes. I care less about what people think of me than I do about getting 10 extra minutes of sleep or having a ham and cucumber sandwich or blow-drying my hair. The skedaddling doesn't bother me. The sweat dripping doesn't bother me. Putting my head down at recess doesn't bother me...enough! How am I that 5-year-old in a 21-year-old's Pumas? Should I really have to wear Pumas in the morning? Have I not learned anything about promptness, punctuality, respect in these 16 years?

Apparently not. I'm trying to learn. All this self-examination actually makes me feel pretty pathetic. I certainly hope I don't pass this self-inflicted disease on to my own children.