The Plan

When I moved to Dover, I had a plan. This plan involved a great many things. Perhaps it makes sense if I rewind to New Years 2009. I had one resolution -- only one. Simply, not to mention bluntly, put -- to give a damn. This included, theoretically, paying more attention to a good many things to which I hadn't been paying any attention. Of course, we have the big ticket items of diet and exercise, but also things like investing more time in relationships my friends, keeping on top of my laundry situation, even taking the time to complete an outfit with a necklace or earrings, or, *gasp* wear make up. So, that was my one New Year's resolution. And then, thirteen days into the new year, I learned that I would no longer be employed as of July 1. (I'm not going to go there, I mention this merely as a place holder.) Suddenly, I shifted into basic survival mode. I no longer gave a damn about giving a damn.

Fast forward to July 1, 2010 -- or June 26, or whenever it was when I actually moved to Dover. As I said, I had a plan. I still wanted to pay more attention to diet and exercise. I still wanted to stay on top of my laundry (made significantly simpler given that I have a washer and dryer in my apartment). And even with the jewelry and make-up... don't think I need the make up, per se. I am growing to appreciate the polish it seems to provide, though.

Anyway... another part of the plan involves writing more. One of the reasons I decided to give this blog thing a try, I suppose. I've always dreamt of being a writer... almost for as long as I can remember. When I realized how carried away I could become reading... When I discovered poetry, be it Shel Silverstein or Robert Frost... When I felt that rush of pride when I wrote a silly story or poem and Grandma or Grandpa or Mom liked what I had written. I still dream of being a writer. Only now I suppose I know that it doesn't need to be a dream. And yet... I have such a sense of hesitation. Maybe it isn't hesitation so much as out right fear. I could pretend that I don't know what I am afraid off. But, I would only be pretending. I am afraid that what ever it is I have to say won't be "good enough." I am afraid that no one will hear me. And I want to be heard.

Back to the plan... part of the plan is basic housekeeping... not allowing chaos to get the better of me. I'm doing more or less okay on that front -- everything is relative. I think it's interesting, though, that the one space in my apartment that I haven't finished organizing is the guest room. That is, the guest room that doubles as a study... where I am sitting right now as I write this. I don't particularly enjoy being in this room, because it makes me a little nervous. It isn't going according to plan. And, as long as this room makes me nervous, I am not likely to spend a significant amount of time in it, writing. Hmm... can you be passive aggressive with your self, do you suppose?

Well, now I have said it... practically in public. Now, maybe I will finish organizing and be done procrastinating... and write and write and write...