Bask now - forage later.

I hate being late. I despise missing deadlines. It makes me physically ill.

I have a couple of these kind of problems.

I count stairs. Not all the time. But sometimes, I count stairs. I find it comforting. I don't do it aloud - that would be weird.

And I don't like to stop. If I am going somewhere it upsets me if I have to stop to get petrol, pee, pick something up, change trains, vomit. I particularly hate having to pick up groceries on the way home. I have been known to make a special trip before a special trip to get petrol.

But being late makes my palms sweat and I get all irrational. Everything else fades into the background except my tardiness. I must be on time. It's possible that I will even make bad decisions if it means I will make an appointment - like park somewhere naughty or run against a light.

Strangely, I don't care if you're late. I think it's because I am usually early - so waiting for someone is just a natural state of being for me. I'm probably awash in the glow of having been on time. Basking in my punctuality.

There are those in my life who I am sure like to torture me. They let me arrive somewhere on time and will make a last minute decision to go and forage somewhere since we have some time to spare. They don't understand. This is the time for basking - not foraging. We can forage when we get there.

Without stopping.