time ticking in my head

Are you an early person or a late person?
There's a great saying out there that is attributed to Jim Morrison that follows along the lines of, "You can't be late for your own show."  In my head, and often if confronted, out of my mouth, that phrase often applies.  More often than not, I'm late.  Not terribly, mind you, but a couple of minutes.  Maybe five, or ten, at the most.  Fifteen, perhaps.  Nothing . . . excessive.
If there's an appointment, or a movie, or work, I'm there.  On time.  Really.  But if it's something looser--"Hey, want to come by?"  "Yeah, I'll see you in an hour or so . . . "--it might be (well, will be) more than an hour, not earlier. And if it's going to be more than that, the party in question will be contacted.  
"Yeah, I'm running a bit late."
Late, but courteous.
Years ago I had a good friend whose brother lacked an internal clock.  An hour or two or more might expire by the time he actually arrived at his destination.   He always eventually made it, and while others might be incredulous, furious, or downright livid, he was as laid back as the Dude.  No worries man, I made it, are you ready to roll?
He had the right idea.
Late or not, life is happening.  If I am late, I certainly know it:  the clock is ticking.  On the inside, it's a feverish spinning and chugging that winds up tighter and tighter--more than likely that cuckoo bird was choked inert by the strain.
And that's when I'm on time.  
But lately realization has been settling quietly along the fringes of the frenzy.  Instead of being a slave to Father Time ALL the time, savor the moments that are happening (something, something, something, roses). Instead of scheduling out every minute detail of the day as they are--or should be--happening, let some of them just be--sure, execute them (off with their heads!)--but don't fret if the teeth aren't brushed in five minutes, because then two minutes later the mouthwash won't be done, and forget about having time to take the trash out because look at the time!  If you leave at eighteen of--which is not looking like it's going to happen--you'll just make it to work on time . . .
(really, that's the calculating that's going on in the old mental clock sometimes)
(!)
So here we are, and the clock is ticking.
No worries man, I made it, are you ready to roll?
See you around.