Now that I have officially dropped out of my PhD program and am underemployed, I have come to the realization that day planners are for people who do things. It was pure arrogance and folly for me to have picked one up after wrenching myself so abruptly from the tender pink womb of academia, and now I am paying for my own abortion.
Case In Point: Before my life went to total shit, my day planner read like the annals of an accomplished, successful adult human being:
See all that stuff up there? That was me. I was TREMENDOUS.
Now, the only things my day planner is good for is counting off the days until the up-coming year and keeping track of my period. It has become a record for the obvious and tiresome.
And yet, I feel that I have to plod bravely on, if only to prove to my day planner that my life is still worth the effort of living it.
It is not going well:
Do I really need to remind myself that it’s garbage day? No, goddamit, but I have to fill the pages somehow. Gone are the confident days that I gave day planner the privilege of being privy to the wonderful goings-on of my day-to-day life. There are more question marks than exclamation marks in my notations now, like I’m asking DayPlanner for permission to carry on.
Because I NEED DayPlanner’s approval in order to validate my continued existence.
Am I good enough for you, DayPlanner?! Are you fucking satisfied, you fucker?!
I am trying, DayPlanner, I’m trying so hard to please you, o.k.???!!
(don’t you look at me)
So, to all of you busy people, with your lives of purpose and day planners replete with jobs to achieve and events to attend, remember that I, too, was once like you.
I, too, had things to do.
And now my day planner, once accomplice, devotee and comrade, seethes at me from its place on the corner of my desk. It is an unhappy, sexless marriage of two formally vibrant, compatible individuals.
But I made a commitment and I intend to keep it.
I am even trying to spice up our relationship by making predictions and setting goals for the future!