I didn’t realise how lost I’d feel without a planner in hand until I started using one. Then, when both the planners I had for Christmas got lost (what? I couldn’t decide and the two together came up to the price of a whole one) I was furious.
Furious? Wait a tick, you’re saying, you meant to write anxious or sad and yeah, those were part of it. But mainly I was furious, because — true or not — I have an ingrained thought pattern that runs “Everything you touch goes to shit, including nice things”. I’m also mildly hoard-tastic because I personify things and possibly because I was raised by people who are also mildly hoard-tastic.
So I get angry when things go missing. At first I get angry with my mum, because she has this knack for “cleaning” by sweeping things into piles/bags and forgetting where they’ve gone. Then when I see that no, it’s more my doing that got one planner stuck on a bookshelf and the other wedged down the foot of the bed, I get angry at myself. This is why you can’t have nice things. And when I pitch the less-desired planner onto the landing, then kick it for good measure, I feel remorse: it’s not that planner’s fault that I fell in love with my Moleskine and all my stuff’s in it. I bought two; why did I buy two? So I could feel guilty about not using one of them? (Actual reason: because I wasn’t sure which would work better. Logic does not happen during these episodes.)
Then I feel sad, sorry, wasteful. Like I don’t deserve anything if I can’t properly appreciate what I’ve got.
I think I may give the other planner to my mum as a Yahrzeit gift (shut up, she needs the distraction from the anniversary). It’ll fit in her purse fine, and she’ll be able to write things down instead of trying to remember them, which, bless her, is getting more difficult as a result of the natural aging process. She’ll use it, she’ll love it, and I will no longer feel as if I’ve just drowned a puppy.
. . .
I need to clean up last night’s journal entry about Eleanor Clift’s Two Weeks of Life. Then I should go over my learning contracts and figure out what’s due when, though I must say my professors have been lovely about keeping in touch and that reassures me I won’t be caught out.
I have a feeling my Saturn Return (thanks, Hellena) will be filled with all kinds of philosophy-sorting. Come on, I’m taking Death and Dying, Illness and Disability, and Social Service Ethics. Tell me I’m not going to run into epiphanies along the way.