Years ago, when I was dating an ex, he came into my bedroom and looking at the schedule I’d posted on the back of my door, frowned.  “You scheduled spontaneous time,” he said, “From 2:00-4:00 on Saturdays.”

“Yes,” I said, “It seems the perfect time to be spontaneous.”

His frown deepened, he said nothing else…and of course we broke up.

I realized, later, that what threw him was the planning of spontaneous time, which I suppose still seems odd, but to me, still makes sense.  Why can’t I block off two hours a week to do what I want, how I want, when I want?

Still…his anxiety over this has always stuck with me, a whisper in the back of my mind that makes itself known late at night. 

Back in December, I tried to break out and be totally spontaneous, and I tried it with my blog. I’d post how and when I wanted…four months later (because you have to do it for a while to really get a sense of the experiment), I can officially say I’m not a fan.

I like my Mechanics Monday and Furry Friday, and I’m going to go back to (as Frank would say) “doing it my way,” and the judgments of exes be darned.