Close Enough

    She was late again. 

     Well, just running late, not that late--there was a difference. She had tried, really tried--set the alarm, twice: 7 am the first time, then ratcheted it down to 6:30 am, an ungodly hour, but she could do it, this once she could do it, that was her vow, her pledge to self, she could do it.

    And it worked! The alarm sounded right on time as machines are wont to do--ah, to be as dependable as a machine - another random thought she didn't need just then, but it made her laugh, relaxed her. Her own little private jokes were her salvation--and that thought made her smile, remember the time . . . No! NO! Keep moving! Don't let that thought, that memory, not even a precious or funny memory in. KEEP MOVING!

    Which is what she was doing. Nearly dressed: both shoes on . . . with matching socks--her favorite, black with a faint outline of butterflies . . . no, no they're not really butterflies, they're probably . .. STOP . . . it doesn't matter, put them on, then jeans, shirt, shoes. Okay, okay!

    She glanced at the clock, muttered a four-letter word beginning with sh.., cursed the person who sped up the clock, slid her feet into her Merrells--his gift, "for comfort and efficiency, no buckles or laces," he had said.

    Well, it worked, was working.

    Now, she was out the door and almost to the car when she remembered the ____________, hurried back, grabbed the __________ and was now actually in the car, belted in, panting, keys in the ignition, about to be on her way, and right on time, she'd be right on time this time!

    Really? 

    Well, no, but close enough.