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. œYou scheduled spontaneous time, he said, œFrom 2:00-4:00 on Saturdays.
œYes, I said, œIt 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.