My best beloveds have essentially asked me, “Joss, why are you so bat-crap crazy, crapping crazy bats?”
In lieu of a straight answer, I give you a list of reasons why it is bad to schedule your life via a sacred paper calendar:
1) Rememer that superfun day when I lost the sacred Paper Calendar and then had to spend a 40 hour work week recreating it and STILL flaked on 5 commitments? AND I NEVER EVER FOUND IT AGAIN? Ahhhh, good times…good times.
The list of reasons has one reason, and that reason is more than enough… But it is not ALL.
There is a new trouble, which is user error. I recently learned I have to actually put EVERYTHING onto it if I want to have an orderly life that doesn’t addle-pate my poor brain into a seafoam green froth of double whipped crazy.
This month? APPARENTLY I only wrote things down if I had to exist in physical place at a specific point in time for a professional reason.
Time consumers that did not require me to bathe and personal matters did not make it onto the calendar. For example, the calendar EMPHATICALLY did NOT say:
“Your extremely time/heart/mind consuming student packets and final evaluations are due the very week of your parent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary celebrations, which you are in charge of planning, and the only time you will have with the packets is the week before, when you have scheduled and paid for a writing retreat in North Carolina with your crit group to make huge inroads on the new book, and PS, your kids leave for their summer camps that week and do not have ponchos and you are a lay reader at church the day you are supposed to leave and remember that you volunteered to cook at the shelter that weekend, AND did you know the day before you leave is your 17th anniversary?”
Yeah. Maybe I should have mentioned all that to myself. YA THINK?
BUT IT ALL GOT DONE OR DELEGATED. Mostly. Not the grading, obviously. I am working from six am to noon on the book, then I break for yoga or hiking, then spend four hours finshing the packets, then spend another four hours
drinking heavily encouraging my writey-peeps with inspirational speeches and eating 5000 calories worth of truffle buttered popcorn.
I regret nothing, NOTHING, except the two hours I spent trooping around the universe trying to find a PONCHO so this girl child I spawned can go to camp with no fear of being cruelly moistened by the rains.
SO. This failing in the my knowledge and understanding of the sacred paper calendar is why I have been so super crazy. Because I essentially allowed my schedule to fall out in such a way that the obligations of ALL my roles: mother, wife, writer, teacher, friend, daughter, sister, crit partner needed 4 to 40 hours of attention—each—in the same 48 hour period.
If you do the math, you will see there are not enough hours for that problem to end anywhere but 5 billion crazy to the power of lunatic times infinity, where X equals melting down and weeping until Scott braved Wal-Mart and found a Poncho in about 4 minutes.
NOW SO here I am. On retreat. Day 2, 23 pages so far, THANK YOU! All that needed to be done before got done in the end. Do you know why? Because 17 years and two days ago, I married a saint. THE END.