Organized Crime

In my effort to get my ass back in gear lately, I've had to step up my organization efforts. Ben thinks I've lost my mind. He has never found it necessary to contemplate clothing any sooner than 5 minutes after rolling out of bed. He has never experienced the myriad awful things that can happen in the event of a runned pair of pantyhose discovered in the 11th hour. He is not a girl.

It's true that I'm slightly manic in my attempt to organize my life. Lately, my evening routine has evolved to include packing my gym bag, selecting clothing for the following day, pre-making coffee, and making lists of shit I need to do. I have calendars coming out my ass (though I'm trying to streamline down to just one). And I must admit I panic a little every time I open the pantry that Ben cleaned out a couple of weeks ago--I had all the cans organized by content, and he totally jacked up my system. (I have not, of course, mentioned this to him, because I like him, and I don't want to risk him having me committed.)

Maybe it all seems crazy, but it's working for me. I've been able to get to the gym two mornings in a row without spending 20 minutes stomping through the house yelling 4-letter words because I can't get my shit together. I've been able to prepare meals without taking twice as long as I normally would because I know what I need beforehand. I can tell you exactly how many phone calls I've attempted to Bob over the past 8 days (14) and how many actually resulted in contact (3).

I can't tell you much of anything else right now, though, because again, I've ingested too much coffee and my brain is moving in every which direction.

And Bob comes home tonight. Finally. I can't wait to see him. I've missed him horribly.