Planning as Self Defense

So when I dragged myself out of bed at the unholy hour of 4:45 yesterday morning, I had to snicker a little.

I think I'm becoming a little more manly.

Last week we discussed a little blurring of gender roles here at my house... remember? I suggested that my hubby, who's suddenly very domestic (Hey... I think I'm going to can some pickles, Honey) may be a Lesbian. Doing dishes, cooks the majority of our meals, goes grocery shopping with me, has been known to fold laundry or run the dishwasher... All these girly* things plus he loves women. I can't think of many more obvious indicators, can you?

(*yes, I am aware those are not really girly things. Sarcasm, people, sarcasm.)

So anyway, back to me. Which is as it should be. :)

I don't move very fast when I get out of bed. My feet are a little arthritic. My knee (the one that there's nothing wrong with) hurts. I have to hold on to the back of the computer chair and the side of the bed until I get over to the dresser. Then I hobble to the end of that, and by the time I reach the bedroom door, I'm able to walk a little better.

It's official. I'm becoming more manly. I wake up stiff.

I wrote several posts ahead for my blog over the long weekend, 'shelved' them and will yank them out if necessary/I have nothing new to say this week.

I knew the first week of being back to work full time would be hectic and that I'd be tired and crabby and may not feel like sitting down in front of the computer to write.

I have this... compulsion now to post every day. When I don't have a post ready, or at least an idea about what I want to say for the day, it bugs me until I get started either writing or at least have a couple ideas about what I want to say. Sometimes, I go back through my posts and find one I've saved that I never published, pull it out and dust it off and cut a few corners and pad a few edges and toss it out there for my daily post.

I like being... ready. I don't like surprises.

I know I've mentioned that. Spontaneity is not something I do well, really. I like to have things planned, figured out to the smallest 'what could go wrong and what can I do about it?' degree.

This has caused admiration in the past from friends and acquaintances when they have attended a kid birthday party or Girl scout event I've planned. Because they always look impressive. Because I've driven myself insane for a week or a month or two months planning and trying to be ready for anything.

Notice I did not say family admiration? That's because my family isn't impressed with my list making and fretting skills. They know those lists aren't something to admire, but simply a tool for saving my sanity. A coping mechanism. A way of self regulating. And when you come to one of those events, you have no idea how stressed out I was when planning and implementing. Because it looks easy.

I'm nutty when planning for something. My lists have lists.

Rational? No. Of course not. Anxiety isn't a rational thing. It's not logical or easy or fun, either.

There was a time when I was a little more spontaneous, but something really awful happened to me that involved a huge amount of painful surprise and ongoing mental anguish and I've never really been the same since.

I have always had the anxiety, though. It's a lot like a barnacle. Attached so firmly that there's no way in hell that it's ever gonna come off on its own. I can't think of many things that have made it better, but can name literally hundreds of things that make it worse.

So a little thing like planning ahead for the sake of sanity isn't something to be admired.

Trust me on this.