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.

It’s what I need

All the lights are off because I can never be so sure if the light from outdoors is enough to fuel my workspace at the kitchen table or if the extra warmth and artificial light from the tired chandelier is over-the-top when it’s on during the day.

The windows are open and even though that means no more peace and quiet of the top floor of my building where all of us are owners and all the renters are breathing below whether as students or not, I need fresh air. When spring arrives and before it gets too uncomfortable where the sweat appears on a girl who hardly does unless she’s been exercising (and there certainly needs to be more of that), the windows stay open. So yes, I heard you the other night, you obnoxious college kids who throw bottles near or on cars to set their sirens off, to wake the world because you think that when you are inebriated that you rule the world moreso than when you’re sober and acting plainly immature. You’re now immature, loud, and loud.

The door rattles back and forth as if someone is trying to test the knob which doesn’t bode well for me since about a year ago there were break-in’s on our floor near our home and well, that just isn’t cool. But the fresh air, it’s what I need.