Organize Vs. Disorganize

I know several people who are so organized that they know exactly what they did ten years ago today and they know exactly what they are going to do ten years later today. I am not exaggerating. If you ask L what she did ten years ago today, she would pull out one little booklet from her neatly stacked organizer pile, leaf through the pages until she hits Jan 29th 2011, and read out to you the major events and appointments she had that day. Don’t you admire that? I do. I always admire people who do things that I can never achieve. Well, I have to admit I exaggerated a little about “ten years later today”, but I didn’t stretch the fact too much. She usually organizes one year ahead and each year is pretty much a repeat of the previous year. Her whole life is planned from birth to death, including weekly menus, annual holidays, visits to relatives, return visits from relatives, when she’s married, when she has kid, how many kids (only one since that’s all she can handle), when she wants to switch jobs, when she will hit mid-life crisis, when she will retire (age 67 with full Social Security benefit or her 401K rises astronomically, whichever comes first). Most importantly, she plans out how to shuffle her parents and her in-laws so that they can take care of her kid while she continues to work in the most organized way possible.

I admire L so much that she is my goddess of organization, planning, clairvoyance, and prescience. I thought I had to learn from L. So I went to Barnes & Noble and got a one-year organizer, dark red, leather bound, quite heavy. It looked impressive on my desk. Suddenly I felt important and even efficient.

I thought to myself that I would spend an hour to plan out the new week, including what I am going to do for each day, what I am going to eat for each meal, when to read books, when to listen to audible, how much I am going to read, which book I am going to finish, how much I am going to write each day. So I did and I felt so good about myself.

However disaster struck the very next week. I just didn’t feel like reading the book I planned for myself. I also didn’t feel like writing at the hour that’s assigned for writing. The food was another problem. I didn’t feel like eating those things in the pre-determined menu. I feel like weird.

I tried to force myself to continue, but after two weeks, the whole thing had to be aborted. There’s no way I am going to plan my life ahead. Planning is for gods and goddesses, whom I can only admire from a distance. I am merely living a flawed existence. Worse, the imperfect life I am living is the most suitable way for me. Isn’t that illuminating? I should have known, shouldn’t I? My grandmother is a perfect woman of virtue and diligence and family value, a tireless matron raising 9 children and 2 grandchildren.

Do I want to be my grandmother? Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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