My “Plans” are to be “Plan-less”

The word “Plans” have kind of an 80s ring to it.  Maybe that’s because I was a young adult in the 80s and having “plans,” especially “weekend plans,” was a must.

What are your plans?
Do you have any plans for the weekend?
Any fun plans coming up?

I’m not a plans kind of person.  Not in the way this is meant, anyway.  What are my plans?  You mean to get an education, raise a family?  No?  I don’t know about plans for “fun.”  I only have life plans and resolutions, which are almost always not fun-related, but require steady work.

Do I have any plans for the weekend?  Not yet, and I’m hoping to keep it that way.  Plans are “to dos.”  Getting up later than a weekday, lazing around with a pot of coffee and a cat, and puttering around have to happen first.  I may check for happenings in my area after that, but usually it’s too late to make them, which is just fine with me.

I’m not competitive with anyone about their plans.  I don’t want my plans to outshine your plans or win a prize.  Plans on my part does not mean I am more popular, or more needed than anyone else.  I don’t have a list of mountains to hike or river rapids to conquer.

Are people who run around amassing constant “plans” running FROM something?  Keeping busy?  Or are they just exuberate about life?th

Doesn’t matter, I guess.  My plan is to be blissfully plan-less.

 

 

 

 

 

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I’m having a gut check…

thDo you want to have lunch at the Thai restaurant?

No, let’s just grab a sandwich at our usual.

How are you?

Ok.  I had bad dreams…You left me.

Do you want to come over on Tuesday nights and watch Genius together?

I could do that.  We sleep better in my bed, though.

Do you like my new purse?  I decided it was easier and cheaper to just buy a new bag instead of searching for new handles for my old one.

Well, it’s not a Dooney & Bourke, is it?

 

 

 

 

I HEART my therapist

two women talkingShe’s a woman.

We are from the same (gentler, slower) part of the country, which is not where we live now.

I’ve seen her off and on since our family had a sailboat accident when my daughter was very young and she got caught under the boat when it capsized (in an air pocket turns out).  I was wracked with guilt that I couldn’t get to her and it would have been my fault if she had died.

My therapist thinks “–” is clinical, as she puts it.

She thinks I’m “gifted.”

I know that first assessment sounds right.

I learn something new every time I see her.

Today I was telling her that I feel like I’m getting through this very, very, TOO slowly.  People are done asking me how I’m doing, and definitely done hearing about it when I spontaneously share.

She said it’s taking me so long, which isn’t that long, really, because I’m “deep.”

My son had just told me in a text recently that I was deep.

Meaning, I have got to turn over, and thoroughly examine EVERYTHING about it — the obvious, the things that hurt the most, the things only seen in hindsight — etc.

This is my way.  Funny, I thought I was just a “bad transition-er” like a kindergarten child who doesn’t want to switch to something new, and then doesn’t want to switch from the new thing, to the next new thing.

No, she said.  I’m not that.

Well, I’m buying what she’s selling.  That reframing changes everything, from thinking negatively about the way I am to thinking positively about the way I am.

She also said that she would tell me the truth now — that it will likely take someone like me years to turn over all the rocks.   Two years ago she told me it would likely take two years — so I could survive the beginning, most likely.  I am definitely over some things, but not nearly over ALL the things, and I have to go through them all.

It’s a deep thing…

 

 

I’m all shook up

Elvis dancingAs in shaky, not in a “Feel so good, gotta shake it” way.

And not an ice cream way.  shakes

My fingers are shaking.

My head shook when I belted back that can of diet pepsi.

That happens though.

My head shakes back and forth when I’m angry mad — angry is too open and vowel-y — so does the rest of me but well-meaning people point out my head shake.  As in, “Are you aware that you’re shaking?”

HepburnProzac up-ed dosage, weird blood sugar, or my usual essential tremors.  Who knows.

Maybe I scared the sh*t out of myself.  All the time.  All day today.

If I wasn’t me, I’d ditch me. I suck.

But it’s my one job, to get myself through life, no matter how much of a mess I make, like…

Drink too much

Surf the net

Find a picture of the new Mrs. at a ball game

Text and email it to people, including my kids and their dad — the Mr., pointing out how ugly she is (Don’t take any shiny red apples from her!) (Where did she park her broom?)

Then tell Mr. I hate him and when can I plan on him dying?

THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR.  AND CRAP, IT’S MY BEHAVIOR.

thI would have looked down my nose, and shunned someone else by now, who behaved this way.  But I don’t have that luxury.

I’m stuck with this petulant, sarcastic, mean, me.

It does give me LOADS more empathy for similarly situated people.  Taking the high road is…well, it’s damn near impossible…for me.

The reason for my behavior is hard to describe.  I don’t want him back.  I don’t want to live in the past.

But…

I cannot get over being betrayed.  I don’t deserve it.  And for her.  (She really is ugly and I’m not.  I used to think I was kind, and she is very aggressive and self centered).  My son said that it didn’t make sense like that.  Well, how does it make sense, then?

So, I troll around hoping to find clues that Karma has shined her light on them for collectively hurting me.  I look for changes on her Facebook page.  I drive by their house every once in a while.

Nope.  No signs.  They are either living happily ever after, OR, their hardships are hidden away from Facebook and the outside of their house.  Like my hardships were.  Like people’s hardships are.  I want them to have hardships for being such shitty people, and fast.

But, that is none of my business.  Karma has her own timing, and maybe, somehow, in some way, they don’t deserve “bad” Karma.  And, I’m over here racking it up.

I can grasp that.

Until the cycle starts again.

God I’m sick of my immaturity; my inability to learn certain lessons, no matter how many times I’m put through them.  It’s not a good look on this middle aged woman.

I can’t thalk…

My tongue is thick.  And swollen.  And numb.

th4JUMUSS3

It doesn’t fit on the bottom of my mouth between my teeth anymore.

It can only discern cinnamon and salt and vinegar potato chips.

I feel sick.

I don’t like this, but I’m pretty sure it goes away.  Eventually.

Prozac.  Can’t live with it.  Glad I don’t have to try to figure out how to live without it.