I hate my schedule.
It’s a constant sliver in my mind that festers and buries itself deeper and deeper in the recesses of my brain until my anxiety takes control and I can’t stop obsessing about what I have to do next.
I’d love to rip that calendar to shreds and live moment by moment. That’s where my happiness lives.
But the mere idea of the chaos that would ensue without my calendar is too much to bare. Without my schedule I’d be completely lost and my mind would implode.
There are three people in this house and three people who depend on me to organize where everyone has to be and when. If it wasn’t for that calendar, life would be in a free-fall towards total chaos.
And that’s why, every morning, I stare at that calendar and wonder if I truly love it or hate it.