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.
“Life is What Happens While You’re Busy Making Other Plans” John Lennon.
We must have a plan. You must have a plan. Failing to plan is planning to fail. My official opinion on this is: HOGWASH. Plan is a 4 letter word. OK, Winston Churchill said “he who fails to plan is planning to fail.” Well yeah, If you’re planning a war. He said that in the midst of WWII. Taking up arms is not on my agenda at the moment.
Where is written that you must have a plan? Why can’t I just live my life one day at a time, or one hour at a time? Better yet, why does the day have to be measured into symmetrical chunks? Make a list check it twice, scramble around all day to get things done and feel guilty about what didn’t get done. No thank you!
Maybe it’s a question of semantics. What some people call a plan is my mental wish list. Things I’d like to do at some point during my stay on the planet. The ordinary, in your face, stuff has to get done and gets done. I don’t need to plan it out. It just happens, whether I want it to or not.
Mr. Husband got his head snapped off this morning by yours truly. When he gets stressed he goes into planning mode. “Lets see here, how many things can I cram onto a to-do list today before I lay me down at night.” So this morning I’m sitting there, minding my own business, either before coffee or before coffee has reached my brain pan yet, peacefully writing nebulous thoughts. Hub-man sits down and starts the morning 20 question slow roast. “What are you going to do today?” Uh, dunno.
Again “what are you going to do today?” Well at some point I’m going to brush my teeth, maybe eat something, haven’t decided yet. “Well, do you have any plans?” Huh? If you insist on an answer, I plan to hit you over the head with a frying pan in a few minutes, after that my schedule is open. A few minutes later “Well, have you decided what color you are going to paint your office.” My thought was, blood-red, my response was “stop asking me questions!!!” His response was a wounded look and hurt tone of voice , “well fine!”
It occurred to me later that maybe he wanted me to do something. Well Bubba, if you have something in mind that you would like me to do, spit it the f@@k out. Don’t make me try to read your mind. I can’t even read my own mind half the time. It’s dark and complicated in there with many twists and turns, unexpected roadblocks, steep drop offs. It also takes flight at the drop of a hat, without a seat belt and tray table warning.
Is there a lesson in here? If you want something ask for it? Be specific. No inane, vague, beat around the bush, OMG I can’t believe you asked me this again, type of questions. Especially in the morning. There is no such thing as polite conversation before I’m fully awake. It’s the adult version of “are we there yet? are we there yet? are we there yet?” It really is just that simple.