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I'm kind of tired of being organized

I've been sooooo orderly lately!

Every morning I brush and floss and put my mask on. I leave the house by bike at 8:30 and arrive at work around 9:00. I bring my breakfast and my lunch to work every day except Wednesday, when I go out to breakfast with my pal Todd.

I make coffee, fill my water bottle, read my email. I eat my lunch at my desk. I leave the office at 5:30. I go to Zumba on Mondays and Wednesdays. On Fridays I visit my mom. Now I'm adding personal trainer sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I come home and feed Graydie the not-very-stray-anymore cat. I eat dinner. I fix my lunch and breakfast and lay out my clothes for tomorrow. I remove the mask and replace it with high-tech skin care products in a regimen that takes approximately ten minutes every night. I take more vitamins.

I change the sheets and do the laundry on Saturday. On Sunday, I grocery shop, cook and iron for the week, and this time of year I go to the farmer's market.

Every other Monday I tidy the house so the housekeeping service can clean it on Tuesday. Every five weeks Doug cuts my hair. Every six months I get my teeth cleaned.

There's a wonderful freedom in orderliness, and, having discovered it rather late in the game, I've been enjoying it. My life is genuinely the better for it.

But damn. I'm beginning to be a freakin' Beatles song. Next thing you know I'll be darning my socks in the night when there's nobody there. I need a vacation. I need to retire. I need some newness. Lacking those things, I'm rebelliously staying up past 11:00 and not preparing any food for tomorrow, and I'll wear whatever comes to hand in the morning.

Maybe I should call in sick, rent a car, and drive to the coast.

Sigh. It's just a mood.

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