Like a chicken with it's head cut off

I was writing an e-mail to the lovely Miss Karen Smyth, recounting the events of the fabulous Wedding Weekend, when I realized that I am really fucking busy.

All the time.

I mean, I’ve always had stuff to do on the weekends because of sports growing up and then because of the sorority and all the completely necessary parties in college, so it’s not anything new.

But when I was in junior high and high school, none of the activities I was running around doing involved alcohol, so other than occasionally being sore from a hard workout or from swimming my ass off at a meet, there was no recovery time needed the next day. In college, if I was exhausted I would just skip my morning class to grab a few extra hours of sleep or just to enjoy the silence of an empty apartment.

Now, I can’t just skip work or sleep a few extra hours and roll into the office at 11. Weird, I KNOW. And now on my weekend adventures there is almost always alcohol involved, so one or more of the days is spent not feeling so great and cussing all the Coors Light I drank the night before.

And being busy while I was single is not even close to the busy I am now that I am part of a pair. Not only do I have MY stuff to do and MY friends to see, I also have HIS stuff to make room for on my calendar. I can probably count on one hand the number of weekends SK and I have spent alone in the almost 2 years we’ve been dating.

I am tired.

I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t feel tired, or sleepy, or groggy. I never wake up feeling completely rested and refreshed. Ever.

But instead of taking a night off, or even (gasp!) a whole weekend off, I continue to push myself and I keep making plans.

And before you start screaming at the computer screen or bashing your head repeatedly into the closest hard surface while saying out loud “THEN JUST QUIT FUCKING PLANNING SHIT!” let me tell you something;

I like it.

I love it, actually.

I love to plan. I love to be busy. I have always worked better under pressure—yes, I am a huge procrastinator—and I seem to focus better when I am going in a million directions all at once. I enjoy coordinating things and getting lots of people together at any kind of event. I make lists and spreadsheets and write down notes in my calendar. SK still gets amazed that I can recite all of our weekend plans in August when he asks me in March.

SK knew I was a planner right from the beginning, though. The first voicemail message I ever left him was a play-by-play of my LIFE. He was trying to ask me out on a date and I was busy every night but one for the approaching 2 weeks, so I told him about it. On his cell answering machine. Really. I was pretty embarrassed when I FINALLY hung up and realized I had given him an explanation of each of my next 14 days. He thought I was trying to be snobby and show him how popular I was. I was actually just really nervous and went to a place where I was safe—My Planning Place.

It started with that first message and it’s been going full force ever since. I am lucky that I found someone who puts up with the busy-ness. Someone who tolerates all the scheduling and list-making. Someone who can understand that while it is SO important that I know TODAY what we are doing for Easter NEXT YEAR, I could give a flip about how much money I currently have in my checking account, and love me for it all the same.

I love that SK and I are so busy that it feels like we never have time for a date. Because that’s not true at all. We always make time for a date night, or a stay at home and watch tv night, or a let’s ignore the dog’s I have to pee NOW! howls and sleep in a few more hours weekend morning. Being so busy and always having something to do, somewhere to go, and someone else around makes the time we are alone in our little apartment so much sweeter. We really appreciate each other in those quiet moments and I love that.

Almost as much as I love being busy.

I get antsy when I have nothing to do. I always say that a weekend of “nothing” would be divine, but I honestly think I would have a panic attack in my apartment and have to run hysterically to the Galleria and regroup in the food court just so I could be around people.

I don’t know where that comes from. I don’t want to explore that further here because this is probably something I need to go spend thousands of dollars on to figure out. And I don’t want to open THAT door.

Being busy means that I have lots of people who love me in my life, and who like for me to be around. Being busy means that I am lucky. I am so grateful for all of the friends I have made and for all of the friendships I have been able to keep strong throughout the years. To me, being busy means that SK and I have our priorities in order, and that we prove on a daily basis that our lives are not full without the ones we love in it.

So if you hear me bitching and moaning about how busy we always are and how tired I always am, just slap me. Hard. And then show me this blog. Because really, I have nothing to complain about. Sometimes I just need to be reminded of that.