I find myself waiting for people all the time but not necessarily because they are late. It’s because I am habitually early. Obsessively early. All the clocks in my home (both of them) are intentionally set 15 minutes fast. This way I am never, ever late. And always, always early. I hate the feeling of being late so therefore I never am. I haven’t been late for anything in twenty or thirty years. How pathological is that? It is truly surprising that the men in white coats have not yet come to take me away.

I really don’t mind waiting for people. I’ve grown accustomed to it. It gives me a few minutes to listen to the birds or ponder the universe or make any necessary vibratory adjustments.

Sometimes when a person I’m meeting arrives and sees me already there they will say, “I’m sorry I’m late. I hope you weren’t waiting for long.”

I always lie and say, “Oh no. I just got here.” This way they do not feel bad about being late (if they really are late) and if they are the type who gets an emotional charge out of being late, it diffuses them.

One would think that I would be constantly looking over my shoulder for those men in white coats but I’m not. I’ve always managed to elude them — probably because I’m always about 15 minutes ahead of them.