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You Can’t Be Late If I’m Late

My post holiday blahs have now turned into FULL BLOWN SEASONAL AFFECTIVE DISORDER. Which makes making it to an early appointment on time a problem. On top of FBSAD, I had to get ready for an early appointment the other day on no sleep.
Couldn’t sleep because I had taken a horrid boot camp class where we had to go back to back with another person and loop elbows and go around the gym putting our butts on the floor and getting back up again. I was paired up with a muscle man who ended up dragging me around the gym by my elbows. Why why why don’t I just stick to Pilates and Yoga? The enlightened regimes. So,I think one shoulder might have been ripped out of socket or something.

When I woke up, late, I ran in circles trying to figure out what to do first. Because after finally falling asleep, I had overslept. I was living proof that what Napoleon once said to his manservant, “Dress me slowly, I’m in a hurry,” is absolutely true. But it is also absolutely against my high-strung spaz-out pre-audition self to follow it.

Should I wash my hair? I had planned to wash it, but now am squeezed for time. Must do the old silk groom and flat iron dirty hair trick. If ever get an award (like the first ever Black Box Awards) I will say in my speech, “I owe my career to the Chi Flat Iron.”

Had to hold two refrigerated jam jars over my eyes to get rid of the puffiness. (Don’t you love all the free beauty tips you are getting here?) Put the Visine in both eyes. Made note to but the atomic powered blue eye drops the makeup artists use. (Your welcome.)

The perfect sweater I just HAD to wear had a big hole in the sleeve. How did that happen? No time now to sew it. I have a million sweaters, but you have to wear what feels right for the day, so I wore it anyway, and pushed up the sleeves to cover up the hole. Clothes have a vibe, and you have to have to right vibe.

Took me a good ten minutes to get my new boots on. But HAD to wear those also.

Did a partial makeup job. Had to finish it on the subway. Hoped to have time to do it on the platform, as the fascinated stares of the other passengers as I put on mascara, and make the mascara face, make me cringe. I should put “applying mascara in a moving car” with the special skills my resume.

I somehow never got around to working with the script, so read it on the subway, after I put on the mascara. I am already off book when the train pulls into the station.

I AM ON TIME, with torn sweater and blobby mascara.

I enter the waiting area and find that they have double booked the time slots and are running way behind. “Really? Fuck off. I could be sewing my sweater right now!” I think. “I busted my ass to get here on time. I put mascara on in the subway!”
The reason it bothered me that they were running late, was because I was running late. After I skipped so many steps to get there on time, it irks.

In general I have a forty-five minute rule. I’ll wait forty-five minutes, and then I’m outta there. But, the holy sweater is working my nerves now that THEY are running late.

When they bring me in, I am, of course, ALL SMILES. Bravely rising above my FBSAD.

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