Somewhere in the Universe, All of This Is True
(After “Compulsively Allergic to the Truth,” by Jeffrey McDaniel)
I’m sorry.
I was late because I overslept.
I was late because I was dissolving in tears.
I was late to protest the tyranny of time.
I was late because I was sucked into a Black Hole. Fortunately, it didn’t like the taste of my deodorant, so it spit me back out.
I was late because I was smelling every flower and petting every dog
I was late because I fell asleep on the couch by the fire, covered in a plaid wool blanket, one dog snuggled against me and two more on the rug beside me, and when the alarm went off—I’d set it because I had to meet you—I thought I hit snooze, but I accidentally hit stop. That’s why I’m still asleep, and what you see here is not me but a holographic projection. The real me is still asleep on the couch by the fire and will sleep there for a hundred years until awakened by True Love’s Kiss.
I was late because I was deciding whether to jump from a bridge into the choppy silver waves and let the fish feast on my flesh.
I was late because I was frolicking in the autumn leaves.
I was late because I’m genetically coded for lateness.
I was late because of the rain.
Because of the traffic.
Because of the traffic caused by the rain.
Because a woman with a walker was crossing the street, and I had to wait for her to pass.
Because I was standing at the tippy-top of the world, wondering what would happen if there were no gravity and I were lifted off into space to float around the universe. Would I find another planet with life on it? Would they accept me? Love me? Would I finally feel at home?
Actually, that was yesterday. Today I was late because my dogs were barking, and I went to see what it was about, and one of them had brought a baby rabbit into the house, and I had to wrestle it away from him, and I wanted to save it, but unfortunately it was dead. I buried it in the backyard with a tiny stone marking its tiny grave.
I was late because I was cleaning the toilet. Someone threw up in it last night.
I was late because I was sick. (It was me who threw up.)
I was late because my teenager was rude to me, so I went on strike to protest him and all teenagers who have ever been rude to their parents and all parents who are rude to their kids. I went on a hunger strike against inter-familial rudeness, and no one met my demands, so I got hungrier and hungrier until I was too weak to be on time. If I pass out, you’ll know why.
I was late because I was smashing the capitalist patriarchy, and I was sent directly to jail, without passing go or collecting $200. I had to wait for a friend to bail me out.
I was late because I was meticulously washing my hands while singing “Happy Birthday,” to protect myself from Covid and other infectious diseases.
I was late because I was getting my Covid vaccine and my flu shot and my shingles vaccine, all at the same time. Also a mammogram, which was way overdue.
I was late because I was reading Chekhov, which got me kind of depressed, so then I started reading the Compleat Works of William Shake-spear (original spelling edition). I had just finished the sonnets when I looked up and saw that I was late, so I stopped and now I can’t find the book.
I was late because the pug took my sock and his sharp bottom teeth made a hole in it, and I had to darn it, and I did a terrible job so there was a bump in it, so I had to stop at Target for a new pair of socks.
I was late because I was saying a prayer for the broken world.
I was late because I read the world was at peace, and I was celebrating. Then I realized I was reading The Onion.
It was my birthday. I was trying to blow out my candles. One wouldn’t go out. I had to keep blowing until it burned all the way down, leaving a small circle of ash in my vanilla cream frosting.
The sun was late rising, so how could I possibly be on time?
I was late because I was doing a séance to bring Shakespeare back and clear up once and for all this issue of who wrote the plays.
I was tickling the Mona Lisa to get her to laugh.
I was reading a mystery and had to find out whodunnit.
I was standing on the corner with a sign that said “Just Say No to Climate Change.”
It’s my son’s fault.
My husband’s fault.
My ex-husband’s fault.
My lover’s fault.
My parents’ fault. They were too permissive—it made me irresponsible.
I forgot about daylight savings. So sue me.
My Wifi was down.
I lost my keys.
I had a flat tire.
I was having sex with the milkman.
I was getting an abortion.
I was giving birth.
There were complications. I died.
I was writing a check to Planned Parenthood.
I was waiting out an active shooter.
I had jury duty, but I was disqualified because of my bumper sticker that says, “Live Simply, That Others May Simply Live.”
I was Saving the Planet.
I was giving up hope.
Fuck you, I wasn’t late.
You were early.
I am right on time.
If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy The Woman Beneath My Skin, The Breath of Love, Of Sweethearts and Sperm Banks, and Your Inner Dog.
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