Punctuality

If you say we’ll meet at 6PM, I’m there at 6PM. I have no concept of the passing of time, though. This is weird, because if I can’t tell how long five minutes is, how the hell do I get it right to be punctual? One of life’s little mysteries that I’m not going to examine too hard, in case I jinx it.

I’ve always been punctual.

Let me start right at the beginning, to explain: the beginning of me on this earthly plain (or is it plane?) Whatever, let me stick to the point, time is passing.

As the story goes (I can’t absolutely verify it, even though I was there), I was due on the second of February. That morning my mother went into labour and trundled off to the local hospital in the dusty Free State town with gold beneath it and mielie fields around it, and read her historical novel until I showed up, just after the ward staff delivered lunch. 1pm on my due date.

My father ate her lunch while she had me, it being before the hands-on-daddy days.

See? I told you I was punctual.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Navel-Gazing & Storytelling and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s