Okay, okay, so I've honestly never "had it together" to begin with.

You know those people who have it together--their life is perfectly aligned, they never miss a deadline, their hair and clothes are always tip-top, and they never seem to run out of time.

Well, I'm not one of them. I'm lucky if I walk out the door in the morning with matching shoes. I consider it a personal best if I remember to iron my clothes and I've managed to complete my makeup without poking myself in the eye with a mascara wand. I'm certain there's a set of gremlins that come into my home and re-do my clocks each night because there is no way I can be consistently three minutes late to work each morning. Most frightening, though, is there hasn't been a deadline in my lifetime I haven't pushed to the last minute--ever.

School assignments, 4-H record books, scholarship applications, it didn't matter. I was even a month late for my own birth, a fact my mother reminds me on each birthday that passes. I was the child who made my mother turn grey, or so I've been told, with my complete lack of respect for time limits and schedules.

Actually, I do respect deadlines, I just have a mental block against planning ahead so that I won't be panicked at the last minute. It must be in my genetic makeup because there's no other easy explanation for my lifelong habit. It wasn't taught to me by any teacher, and I certainly wasn't raised that way as my mother often reminds me.

You see, I was the child who did her math homework on the 45-minute bus ride to school the morning it was due. I was the "gifted" student who waited until the lunch hour before her college-level psychology class to write an essay on manic depression--complete with bibliography and six reference articles. I was the yearbook editor who was on a first-name basis with the printers because I'd begged so many deadline extensions.

I was the 4-H club president who's record books were always late and handwritten in pencil. I was the 4-Her with the crazy animals and half-finished projects the week before the county fair.

Mine were the scholarship applications hurried into the Post Office to be hand postmarked by the mailing deadline, my letters of recommendation were usually written on napkins by hurried teachers and I never once studied for an exam of any kind. The latter still drives my siblings and close friends up a tree with envy. I was even the college freshman who waited until three hours before her speech class to create the presentation, "Your Laundry and You," which was created while I was folding my clothes in an age-old procrastination technique--when under the gun, make sure your wash is done.

I've tried every time management tool ever touted by professionals. Unfortunately, I've only developed three of the Seven Habits and I've yet to fully master any motivational skill beyond fear. I have a calendar, but it's usually good for just reminding me of how far behind I am and for holding the various reminders I continually write to myself.

"To do: walk dog, wash dishes, finish that quilting project, clean out the car, re-organize the closets and research WTO for a story due in three days...."

Perhaps the greatest irony of my lifetime is that even though I never have it fully together, I became a journalist. You can't tell me the good Lord doesn't have a sense of humor when I now have a job that depends on meeting deadlines each week.

While I may never fully master the intricacies of a perfectly aligned life, I would hope there would be one benefit of this. With so much hustle and bustle, I doubt my life will ever be conventional and dull.

Frantic, harried and late, but never dull.

Jennifer Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com.

Date: 2/25/05

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