I've been thinking about this quote since I read Catcher in the Rye, which, admittedly, was only about two years ago. Holden Caulfield was all over the place, but when he spoke this line, I wanted to hug him.
Because, you see, I cannot be on time.
I try! I try so hard. But when I have a time that I need to be somewhere, no matter how early I start getting ready, approximately ten minutes before I need to leave things fall apart. It's like at that ten minute mark, the thought that I could, potentially, be late, sends me into a panic. My brain stops working.
I walk out the door with nine minutes to spare only to realize that I forgot four out of the five things I need.
Or I remember all five of the things I need, but in my panic place them in, I don't know, the oven, leaving me searching for them for an extra 20 minutes.
Everything I put up falls down. Everything I touch breaks. Sometimes it feels like the universe is working against me to make me late, and I may or may not, on occasion, have left my house crying in frustration.
Since I know that I piss people off daily, it's nice to know that there's an alternate fictional universe where someone doesn't care if I'm a few minutes late.
They only problem is that after my tardiness-induced panic attack, I in no way look "swell". Unless, in J.D. Salinger's day, "swell" referred to girls who were sweaty, frazzled and covered in hives. Yes, let's go with that.
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