2011, Here I come. I have a plan. And for the first time in my life, it’s not just a to-do list of all the things I might-maybe-want-to-kind-of get done… someday. Nope. It’s actual plan. Like for grown-ups. Some of its features include action items, deadlines and objectives. Impressive, no?
My husband B and I made the plan over the last weekend when we holed up a nice, but otherwise nondescript hotel room and forced ourselves to stay away from the hooch, at least until dinner (On a Saturday? Preposterous!). We each made a list of 43 goals and compared notes. Who knew B wanted to host SNL? I mean, I guess we all do, but he put it on the list. I had things like walk the dogs more.
Quickly, you should know the dogs, Grandpaw and Dolly Parton, are fat. Ms. Parton more so than Gramps. But they really do need more exercise. So now I walk them with their backpacks on, loaded with canned goods so they can burn more calories. I think they want to kill me because of those backpacks.
But anyway folks, back to the matter at hand. The plan.
It’s a big thing to map out your life, years in advance. It’s wrought with all kinds of hazards. You could accidentally wind up too married to said plan and miss a really great opportunity because it’s “not in the plan.” You might also find yourself stressing about things that are literally a THOUSAND DAYS AWAY. Not healthy.
My personality type (completely insane) leaves me much more vulnerable to that latter pitfall. I,um, tend to be a bit of a worrier.
A brief example:
Yesterday B and I decided to go to the gym after he was done with work. So I thought it would be convenient to bring his gym clothes with me when I picked him up so we could just go straight to the elliptical epicenter. However, this plan probably shaved a good 7-8 months off my life in the long run because I spent a lot of time and energy worrying about WHAT I WOULD DO WHILE I WAITED FOR HIM TO CHANGE INTO HIS GYM CLOTHES. HOW EVER WOULD I FILL THOSE TWO MINUTES? I don’t like the gym at all. I just like to get on a machine and get the hell out of there. The place makes my skin crawl and I can only go there if the buddy-system is in full-effect.
So I thought of the following solutions to this quandary:
1. Stay behind in the car for a few minutes and meet him inside after he’s changed
2. Sit in the chairs in the lobby of the gym and try to look cool (yeah, right)
3. Mill about juice bar as if I’m pondering a purchase
4. Wash my hands somewhat slowly in the women’s locker room
5. Just start working out in advance of his costume change
Then I had a brilliant idea! Hurrah! This will save the day! B can just change in the car on the way there! And I won’t have to figure out what to do in those two horrible minutes left alone in the gym!
Whew. That was a close one.
This is going to be a long four years.