planner

I am a planner.  I hate Microsoft Outlook calendars unless I’m forced to use it for work and there’s no getting around it since my boss is in love with me sending her invites for a time to talk–simply talk–about what I’m working on.  I get that she’s busy but why must every moment be scheduled? We sit so close yet we have to treat our time to meet (not a meeting, just a conversation) like it’s a big conference.  I digress.

My husband uses his phone to schedule things.  Fine.  I use my old-school planner.  A little diary I buy based on looks and functionality that I use a pen (gasp!) or a pencil (whoa!) to write my plans down in.

One of my pet peeves is when I make plans that a wrench is thrown in to mess it all up.  Then I feel extremely guilty when things do not go according plan because I am then labeled as “inflexible” and that makes me even more aggravated.

This past weekend was a good example when Bub’s parents were in town.  They did not tell us ahead of time that they were going to make the 8-hour drive and see us this weekend and yes, I should give them a break.  We don’t see them as much as my family who pops by any old time, too, but really, why am I the one left to make plans with people who all of a sudden decided to make a trip here? If you’re going to come visit on a whim, then make a plan and ask if we want to be included.  And my husband, who I love very much, I am not going to make plans for you and your parents–that’s for you to do, really.  I hate to sound all 2nd grader but it’s how I feel.  I make plans most of the time and organizing my life is something I can feel good about.

OK, vent over.

Moving on.  I am in a work rut.  I have a list of many to-do’s, yet I find that blogging is more important at this very moment.  Then I beat myself up because what sort of example is this for my kid? Oh, just procrastinate and be unmotivated and it will all work out? I need a good kick in the butt–on many levels.  More on the not being motivated part…I’m off the hell diet and it’s been 2 weeks of me eating my way through all the items I missed out on during Thanksgiving and Christmas (READ: anything sweet and bad for you).  So now the guilt is piled on thick and the fact that aside from some walks here and there my body wouldn’t know the inside of a gym if it got lost nor would it understand what I was doing to it if I, say, ran…

OK, bitchfest over.