That’s how I feel today. Just a lil skeevy. But I think it’s good for me. Stress keeps me paying attention.

I think sometimes that I allow things to stress me because I’m disorganized. Er…I mean, my disorganization causes me stress. Anyway, you get it. The Thriller has long known this about me, and has, on occasion, tried to change my behavior to decrease the likelihood of a massive flipout.

He’s still working on it.

He is a list maker (as is sister Mavis). I’ve made lists before, but then I lose them. Or they just sit on my desk/in my pocket, and are eventually buried underneath some new thing or list or printed-out journal article; or I pull a list out of my pocket and say, “Hm, that’s old,” and throw it away. Why is that?

It frustrates me that I have the intellectual wherewithal to devise a list of important tasks, but not to execute one. Actually, it’s probably not so much intellect as discipline. Arg, the D word. I hate it.

I’m going to take one last shot at it, just to prove I can do it. Here goes. In the interest of accountability, here is my list for the weekend:

UPDATE 5:13 p.m.

3, 4, 5, 6 and 8 are done. How bout that.

1. Copy horn parts for tomorrow’s rehearsal.
2. Finish introductory stuff on thesis.
3. Go to the grocery for Seamus’s birthday feast.
4. Make score edits before rehearsal at 2 today.
5. Go to Wally to buy the rest of a birthday gift or two.
6. Text orchestra members to remind them about tomorrow.
7. Clean the upstairs bathroom.
8. Call DQ to order the ice cream cake.
9. Drop off bakery order for next week’s tech rehearsal. (NEXT WEEK IS TECH REHEARSAL. Oh dear.)

That’s it so far. What’s on your list for today? Do you make lists? Do they do any good? I’m still waiting for the magic to happen here.

Nothing so far. Feh.

Happy Saturday!

FO

Tomorrow, my son will be 29 years old. Never thought I’d see the day. I was telling someone yesterday how easy it is for me to “see” my sons as babies; how much detail I remember of their faces, their voices…it’s like it was all last week instead of the early 80s.

And now look. Seamus is 29 tomorrow, and Lars will be 26 in December. The march of time…

It’s funny. When I was 21, life couldn’t happen fast enough. I blew through minutes and hours like there was no tomorrow, throwing them away without a thought. The marche de temps never bothered me. But now, I’m much more careful with those moments. I want to save them — savor them. I want time to s-l-o-w down. I want the physical effects of aging to slow down without me personally underwriting the Dermitage and Reservatrol product lines.

When I was 21, I didn’t listen when my parents/grandparents/older friends told me, “Savor every moment.” I wish I had. I wish I’d taken more pictures, splurged on that honking huge 20-lb. video camera back in 1981, not been in such a hurry, taught my sons more about more. In other words, I know what the old peeps meant, now that I’m an old peep myself.

To the teenagers and twenty- and thirty-somethings who visit RtB, I say: Listen to the 50-and-over crowd when they tell you that life is indeed short, and that fleeting, seemingly unimportant moments will one day be quite dear in retrospect. Wring every possible ounce of joy out of stuff right now, and make it a habit from here on out. “Make every moment count” is no longer a tired cliché — not to me, anyway. I’ve mentioned to several of my fiends that the Thriller and I have adopted a new life goal: fun. Everything we do will be in some way related to having fun. Whether it’s spending time with grandchildren, planning vacations (wahooty hoo), going on weekend jaunts, having family and friends over for coffee or dinner — it’s all about having fun in the years we have left. Why not start that trip early? Like now, for instance?

Happy weekend  — yay!

Philosofink

Can I just share? I love sharing things with you; you know that, fiends. This post is part RNF, part Various & Sundry, part rant, part head-scratcher, part Boot to the Head, part Everything Else. It’s just a buncha parts. I think it’s how I choose to deal with my crushing stress level this morning. As RD used to tell me: when people are difficult or when you’re pressed to listen to craziness, just lean and smile.

All right, I’m leaning and smiling. It’ll all work out. I will listen, nod my head, then do exactly as I please.

Have you ever figured out why people are difficult? Is it that they’re so convinced they’re right, they simply cannot understand why others can’t see it? I want to be known as someone who listens; someone who defers. I hope my sons recall that lesson (it was hammered into their heads often enough growing up). It never hurts to defer. And it’s fine to know you’re right — without telling the world.

Now that’s not to say that one cannot offer a divergent opinion, or argue for one’s beliefs. Pretty sure that’s what the country was founded upon. It’s the folks who just won’t quit who make me ever so slightly itchy. Did you ever want to say, ALL RIGHT ALREADY! YOU’RE RIGHT! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

*straightening skirt*

I’m sure no one has ever uttered that statement to a spouse or significant other. Anyway.

I hate pretzels. Dry little pieces of table-top. They’re like bagels; totally devoid of flavor. Evil things.

The rough draft of my thesis is due on the 3rd. Birdie opens on the 5th. Is that not a laugh riot? IthinkI’mturningJapaneseIthinkI’mturningJapanese

Have a great day — what day is it anyhow?

FO