Yesterday, I sent my husband an Outlook invite to my 30th birthday dinner.
Then I quickly realized I have a problem.
This is my Outlook calendar.
Now I feel as if you have all, more or less, seen me naked. Every appointment, detail and scheduled event in my life is stored here. And I'm beginning to infiltrate my husband's calendar. A little organization never hurt anyone, right? It's good for him.
I know that on the surface, this seems mildly neurotic. But I can explain:
- I am hyper-organized. I'm pretty sure Ty and I will both remember when we're celebrating my 30th birthday. I don't think on that May date we'll be sitting around the house wondering, "Humm ... now what was it we were planning to do tonight? .... Aww, shucks! We completely forgot we were going to eat at the chef's table at the Mabry House tonight." I highly doubt that would happen. But doesn't such a notable event need to be officially recognized on my calendar? Indeed.
- I'm painfully forgetful. And I mean painfully. Just a few weeks ago, I asked one of our dear church friends when she was scheduled to have her baby. She'd had the baby two weeks prior, but since I hadn't seen the baby yet and it seemed soon to see the mom back at church and I'd been out of town for a week... it just didn't register in my pea-sized brain. See what I mean, painfully forgetful. Fortunately, I made the mistake with some very good humored people who have allowed me to grovel ever since. And, all in all, a valuable lesson was learned. All births should be marked on my Outlook calendar from now on.
I explained that although it was tempting, no I don't. ... I have a separate calendar on my fridge for that. It was just a reminder that I was delivering dinner to our friends with newborn twins. I further explained that things can't just float around in my head. Things get lost there. Then I say stupid things. Things that require me to grovel for weeks on end.
So, forgive my neurosis, but I need my Outlook to do most of the day-to-day thinking on my behalf. And sometimes on Ty's behalf. It's better than the alternative. The painfully forgetful alternative.