As a former English major, my favorite quote should be something lyric, classic, lovely. "But ask not for whom the bell tolls," perhaps. Or maybe, " Arise, awake, or be forever fallen." And I love these quotes, I do - I keep a whole notebook bursting full of beautiful prose just like this, as any truly geeky Engligh major does.
But in all honestly, here, HERE, is my favorite quote: "This is not a race. You are not a horse. Tell that little person to get off your back."
Sadly, I cannot attribute this quote to anyone, as one does not tend to know who writes those insightful Yahoo Horoscopes. But oh, how I love it. It speaks to my late blooming heart. So thank you, Yahoo, for your brilliant words. Also, for the email capabilities.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
What's In A Name?
I had a terrible time deciding on a name for this . . .cough . . . blog. (Is it true? Have I become a blogger? A bloggess?) But decisions were painfully made, and here I am, Catherine The Late. As my job. . . cough . . . lawyer (alas, true as well) has taught me, I have several reasons - arguments - at the ready that this name fits the bill. And here there are:
1. For years upon years, I was an early bird. Early to bed, early to rise, early to the party, all of that. Oh, to have the time back that I've spent circling blocks, waiting for at least one other eager beaver to arrive. Waiting for the store to open. Waiting for the rest of the group to finish getting ready already. And then, at some point in my life, perhaps as early as this year, I began to be late. And not just the five minutes late I used to pretend to be after circling the block, dodging looks from passerby who suspected me of casing the place. I became officially and chronically late. I spent so much time trying to be late (i.e., cool, not bothered, so laid-back I forgot I had somewhere to be), I actually became ... late. It hasn't helped that I moved to a new and, to me, confusingly laid-out city. So now, my new tendency toward running late, plus the world's worst (really, it should be documented) sense of direction, I am now, always, really really late. I'm working on this.
2. I'm a bit of a late bloomer. I suppose that's better than an early bloomer, or a peak-to-sooner, but I've never enjoyed this label for myself. It is what it is, though (or am what I am, rather, duly noted, Popeye). As a reserved, self-labeled Good Girl, I was more the quiet and reserved type through junior high...high school....college (not kidding about the late bloomer bit). It wasn't until graduate school when I finally came out of my shell a bit, talked more, laughed louder, dressed better. I used to hate this about myself, but I've really come to terms with it now. After all, isn't it better to have the best up ahead instead of all behind you? My mom always had the same comment for those who said high school was the best time of their lives. How sad, she would say, to have it all downhill at the ripe old age of 18. I tend to agree.
And so there you have it, Catherine The Late. More to come.....
1. For years upon years, I was an early bird. Early to bed, early to rise, early to the party, all of that. Oh, to have the time back that I've spent circling blocks, waiting for at least one other eager beaver to arrive. Waiting for the store to open. Waiting for the rest of the group to finish getting ready already. And then, at some point in my life, perhaps as early as this year, I began to be late. And not just the five minutes late I used to pretend to be after circling the block, dodging looks from passerby who suspected me of casing the place. I became officially and chronically late. I spent so much time trying to be late (i.e., cool, not bothered, so laid-back I forgot I had somewhere to be), I actually became ... late. It hasn't helped that I moved to a new and, to me, confusingly laid-out city. So now, my new tendency toward running late, plus the world's worst (really, it should be documented) sense of direction, I am now, always, really really late. I'm working on this.
2. I'm a bit of a late bloomer. I suppose that's better than an early bloomer, or a peak-to-sooner, but I've never enjoyed this label for myself. It is what it is, though (or am what I am, rather, duly noted, Popeye). As a reserved, self-labeled Good Girl, I was more the quiet and reserved type through junior high...high school....college (not kidding about the late bloomer bit). It wasn't until graduate school when I finally came out of my shell a bit, talked more, laughed louder, dressed better. I used to hate this about myself, but I've really come to terms with it now. After all, isn't it better to have the best up ahead instead of all behind you? My mom always had the same comment for those who said high school was the best time of their lives. How sad, she would say, to have it all downhill at the ripe old age of 18. I tend to agree.
And so there you have it, Catherine The Late. More to come.....
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