Imagine this. You wake up on this, the first morning of daylight savings time, and take stock of things. The sun’s shining, the weather verges on warmish, and there are no crises (real or imagined) demanding attention. For the first time in a very long time, you have the luxury of following your heart. For one whole, long day. What’s the plan?
As for me, I tottered off to the kitchen, made coffee, sat down at the table and watched it steam, taking my sweet time to consider the options on this quiet, lazy Sunday. I daydreamed and tried on different adventures, in no hurry whatsoever and why should I be? The entire day was before me, just waiting to be lived. So I sipped my coffee in peace and contentment, then my eyes fell on the bulletin boards.
Egads, I thought, I’m tired of looking at them. They never change. They’re supposed to change, but they don’t. They’re outdated and dusty and sun-faded and tiresome. I hate them, suddenly and irrationally.
In a wild burst of energy, I jump from the chair and pull down every notice, every post-it, every picture, greeting card, memento, doodad, and thingamabob. Reason and inertia quickly return, of course, but by then I’m surrounded by disorder and naked bulletin boards and …
there goes a lovely day of tempting possibilities. No movie. No nap. No getting lost in a book. No stroll in the sunshine. Instead, I’ll pay the heavy price of being an impulsive doofus and fix what I’ve broken.
Please, tune in again next week, for another hilarious episode of Oh, Crap, What’ve I Done Now?
copyright © 2022 the whirly girl
the whirly girl 
7 responses to “: the cost of regret :”
Awesome!
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[…] : seized by regret : […]
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My habit is to use one wall as a bulletin board and to stick colourful sticky notes to that wall. When I have finished with it, it gets torn of the wall and disposed of. When I moved rooms for my “office” the wall I ended up being beside to transfer my sticky notes to happened to be the closet. A sliding door closet. When I get over whelmed with the damn sticky notes I just pull one door over to cover the other. Out of site out of mind. I was accidently clever. That’s how I roll.
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See? That’s the difference between us. You roll gracefully through your daily business, while I clank and lurch and thud. Honestly, though, I was trying to be Amy Sedaris and missed the mark — by quite a lot. I’ll have to rethink the whole thing when I get some enthusiasm or energy. I’ll take either one.
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Here’s a suggestion. Don’t think of that pile of Post-Its and postcards as chaos, think of it as Art (with a capital ‘A’). It represents a deep insight into the sometimes extraordinary life of an ordinary woman in downtown America. (Or some such BS.) So, take a photo, create one of those Non-Fungible Thingies, and sell it for a small fortune. Then you’ll be feeling a lot better … But I guess it’s too late for that now. You’ve already thrown in the trash, haven’t you?
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D’oh 😖 And I’ve taken the trash to the dumpster. All those billions. Gone. I swear to God, I need a minder.
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