Don’t Fail to Plan Your Fun

Coyote Plan

Coyote Plan

If you fail to plan your fun you plan to not have much fun. That’s my words of wisdom for today.

Life is like a pocket-book. It will fill up with stuff and clutter before you know it, if you don’t pay attention. I’m finding that lists of things that I “have” to do or “emergencies” will pretty much fill up the whole day if I don’t make sure to have some fun stuff penciled in. Some emergencies are real emergencies. Others are what I called manufactured emergencies. Things like putting off tasks until they reach crisis mode. It continues to amaze me how Mr. Husband and his mother can take some little minor task and turn it into a 3 day stress fest. A day to freak out about it before hand with endless phone discussions, an entire day for 2 people to do something that should take 1 person no more than 30 minutes, and then a day to recuperate from the self-inflicted trauma of it all. This task can be as minor as putting gas in the car.

This all came to me in a stroke of grumpy genius when I woke up cold at 5:30 this morning. Mr. Husband’s dirty fan that “he can’t sleep without” blowing in my face. Funny he wakes up many mornings complaining of a sinus headache and can’t seem to figure out why. Then he blames it on the cat. Maybe blowing dust up your nose all night has something to do with it, My Love. Oh, nooooo, that can’t be it. The cat must have been shoving his tail in my face all night long. That has to be the reason.

It’s funny how a little fan can become a bone of contention or a catch 22. If I turn off the fan he gets mad, especially if I trip over the ammo locker at the foot of the bed and fall on him while stumbling around in the dark. But, if I give up and get out of bed and go to another room, he comes trailing after me and grumbles “well why didn’t you just turn off the fan?” Yea right. I’m not falling for that one again. What I may do is check if the circus is in town and take the fan down there and ask them to shoot it out of a cannon. A splash down somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico works for me. Or I could drive it up to Kansas, land of the pumpkin cannon, and pay them to launch it into orbit. By the time it comes down we’ll have moved on to some other quibble.

So what I’ve realized once again at 5:30 am, my personal witching hour, is that I’m going to have to break down and plan. Bleh, plan is a 4 letter word for me. I need to let that go. But, that is because I spent forty years planning stuff for other people in big corporation land. Plans I didn’t give a fig about. My usual take was “oh goody, we get to have a 2 hour staff meeting to talk about all the things we have to do this year (that we don’t want to do) in a timely manner. Then we can nail each to the cross for missing deadlines and failing to stick to the plan. After that we can write reports, that no one reads, about how our plan is going to be better next year.” Then we all put on the hair shirts and talk about “continuous improvement” and the cycle began again. I know, excuses, excuses.

My life is important to me! So I’ve decided that I need to take it a little more seriously and plan the stuff I want to do. And not just the big fun stuff like travel. The daily fun stuff, the take care of me and my relationship with Mr. Hub and others is important too. When I’m sitting there in a stupor in the morning with a cup of coffee in my hand, nothing is going to fly past my radar. Even figuring out what to wear becomes a herculean effort. Not having to “dress for success” anymore has a few drawbacks. I’ve ended up in some pretty bizarre outfits lately because I put on whatever is the easiest to grab. Then if I want to leave the house I have to redress because I’m embarrassed to be seen in the current ensemble. When I have to change my outfit just to go the local convenience store something is wrong.

So I plan to have a plan…soon.

10 responses

  1. Today I learned about hair shirts.

    1. Oh really? Have you not heard of one? Or did you have to wear one?

  2. I’ve ended at least two relationships over the fan in the bedroom at night. So three months ago my son moved back in with me and guess what he brought… A fan!

    1. Hopefully he didn’t put it in your bedroom? And if he did, remember it’s YOUR house. If you don’t like the fan tell him to get rid of it.

      1. He’s too old to sleep in my bed. But he did try to put it in the living room.

      2. Ugh here in Texas you could get away with using it for target practice. Hey, what a great idea. Where is the dang shotgun?

  3. Mr HoT also has a fan. Mr HoT also sleeps au naturel. Mr HoT kicks the covers off and turns into an ice-block – when he awakens and begins to moan about how cold he is. He is too groggy to realise he just has to pull on the covers, so I have to yell at him and tell him to get under the covers. Several times. Usually I have to call him names – like moron. “Get under the covers you moron!” “Wha?” “Get under the covers!” Wha??” “You moron…” By that time he is fully awake and playing games with me – trying to sleep at 2 in the morning.
    Eventually he will settle down and fall back to sleep. Leaving me lying there wide awake.
    I remember, it doesn’t seem so long ago, when the two of us waking in the middle of the night, with nothing better to do, would have gone at it for a while – you know, the old nudge-nudge, wink-wink. And both fallen blissfully asleep. Sigh…
    Has anyone written a book about the (non-sexual) bedroom habits of 50 somethings? I wonder if it would be a comedy or a tragedy?!?

    1. Perhaps you could bring a sledge hammer into the bedroom and the next time he wakes you up because he’s cold demolish the fan with the hammer. THAT will get his attention 🙂 I’m concerned about the lack of nudge nudge wink wink factor with us +50s. Maybe I’ll turn that into a project 😀

      1. Yes, the entire bedroom could use a sledgehammer… I only go in there now to sleep… it is the man cave… ugh…

        1. Is there another room in your house that you could delegate as the man cave? After I put my foot down and reclaimed our BEDroom, that there has even been a nudge and a wink in there. Miracles do happen.

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