There is no time when I can guarantee that nothing will keep me from making an appointed time. I can never promise that Kender will not have a meltdown over putting on his coat and shoes. I can’t promise that I can exercise complete control over the sleeping and waking habits of six or seven other people in addition to myself. I can never promise that nobody will throw up as I am walking out the door, that somebody throwing or pounding or stomping something won’t cause shattered glass to flood my house right before everybody got their shoes on. I can’t be sure that the shoes and socks and mittens I located the night before will still be in their appointed place the next day, unmolested by dogs and cats. I can’t ever be sure whether the sneezing, coughing, nose-blowing, and diarrhea I deal with every morning will last for 5 minutes or 2 hours, or maybe skip a day. I can’t promise there won’t be an unpredicted ice storm causing my trip to double in time. I don’t know whether I myself am going to have a break-down because I can’t access my schedule, because the bill-collector called again for the bill I’ve been making payments on since day one, because one more thing of mine has been broken by another person, because I can’t handle being so completely out of control.
There is no good time. There is no better schedule. There is never something I am not late for ever.