Wake up, fuck up.

Often, there is no way around it; I fuck up. I fuck up but good. I think of all those people who seem to have it together: career, marriage, babies, all packaged together in a nice Facebook package.

I have a very basic problem, an extremely rudimentary flaw. It's a source of anxiety and shame, for the very reason that it's something that very few people get. And for good reason. It's a problem I shouldn't have.

I'm late. All the time. To everything.

I remember being around 5 years old and not being able to get to bed. I remember watching so much Nick at Nite. This was back in the day when Nick at Nite showed all black and white shows: The Donna Reed Show, The Patty Duke Show, The Dick Van Dyke Show, My Three Sons, Bewitched (pre-color, first Darren). I was late to elementary school everyday, which was always a bit odd only because I was always dropped off by a parent. I was late to middle school, high school. Generally by no more than 5 minutes.

Was I late to college? I must have been, although I have very little recollection of it.

I was late to every law school class. Most frequently late to the classes I had first in the day, whether they were at 9 a.m. or 6 p.m. Usually by no more than 5 minutes.

So the feeling of waking up, seeing the time, and going into immediate panic mode over my lateness is not new to me. It's all too familiar. The whole routine is very old: wake up and think to myself, "Hmm, I just woke up on my own. No alarm? Is this cause for alarm? Do I feel rested enough? Because I probably shouldn't feel rested. I'm rested. Fuck. FUCK." Then I fly out of bed and, after possibly wasting more time on something random, I fly out of the house...and then walk to the subway station at a relatively brisk fashion, but not too quickly or else I immediately get shin splints. I feel and am a fuck up for the next hour, minimum.

Today, I did a slight variation. I woke up and thought, "Well, it's already the afternoon. Day's already somewhat fucked for bar review." And I rolled over and grabbed my phone. I saw a headline from a law school staffer, "Final Chance to Attend Fellowship Protocol Meeting Today" and I panic. I was accepted for a postgraduate public service fellowship a couple weeks back and I remember reading an email from a week or two back about the orientation meetings being necessary to attend. The first email they had sent out outlined that three meetings were scheduled but the third date hadn't been picked yet. The first two were close in time though, maybe a day or two apart. Today was apparently the third date. God knows when I got the email that said that today was the day that was picked. And I didn't go. The email said it was today at 4 p.m. though, so I breathed a sigh of relief. Good, I thought. I can just get dressed now and make it. I look at the clock. It's 3:40.

It's a 45 minute commute to school, where the meeting is.

I'm fucked.

Why does this happen?

Because I'm a fuck up.

I called a cab company to see if I could pay my way into not missing the whole meeting. Turns out no, it would take me just as long to take the subway. I called the two staffers in charge of the public service program; no luck. Of course not, they're probably already at the meeting. I hit 0 on the voicemail and try to find the main number. The phone system transfers me to the registrar or some other office and I wind up speaking with a staffer who has no earthly idea what I'm talking about or who I want to speak to. I get transferred to career services and the line goes dead. Great. Failtransfer. I look up the career services number online (why don't I already have it in my phone book? why is my phone freezing and being stupid today?) and give them a call. Guy who answers the phone doesn't know what I'm talking about either. Great. He asks me who my assigned counselor is. I tell him. I look back at the website in front of me; man, she got promoted to director of career services, so I hope that's good news for me.

Finally, I get her on the phone and I preface this with, "I'm really sorry, I'm in a panic right now." I picture the other times in her career she's had to deal with idiot students like me who are in a panic. I feel pathetic. I explain to her the fellowship and the required meetings, the last one being today, how I missed everything. Her office doesn't run that program directly, she says. I know, I say. But I couldn't get a hold of the two people I knew who were running it, because they're probably at the meeting right now. This is now the third time I'm explaining this.

Eventually, she asks if I was in the fellowship program. I mean, what? She asks if I applied back in May. I say yes. She asks if I got in. I say yes. She says don't worry then, that's what's important, not the meeting. I'll take care of it, she says.

Really?

Really?

So I'm a fuck up but a lucky one? A fuck up because I rolled into the street before oncoming traffic, but I managed to roll away from the big ass semi? Could I be so lucky?

I guess the answer is yes. But I'm still a fuck up.