Can't trust that day.
[sigh. deep, withering, bordering-on-pathetic, sigh.]
The danger of being a procrastiperfectionater is the blind trust that tomorrow will be better. Better to start. Better to finish. Better to just be better at whatever it is one is procrastinating until it can be perfected.
Well, just slap my ass and call me Scarlett. Because tomorrow always is another day. And I can't think about it now. And I will go crazy if I do.
What seemed like a swell plan on Sunday night seemed to vanish like the stars in the sky when the sun rose. Which I saw. When I walked into my back yard with a tinkling terrier who can make 17 pounds feel like 70 when she's standing on your chest demanding to be delivered to her lavatory on the lawn.
I stood in the cool grass.
I looked at the glorious spread of color across the sweet Carolina sky.
I felt a crisp nip in the air, just enough to bring hope that the day would, in fact, feel like spring and not the summer that is creeping ever so closer, and much too quickly.
I smelled a melange of dirt, clover, oniongrass and mysterious wafts of unidentified blossoms.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said out loud, breaking the tiny little word into at least three syllables: "Shit."
Because I knew I was supposed to be up in an hour. And my vision of hearing my alarm, stretching, pouring a cup'o'caffeine and trotting on my merry way had been thwarted.
I was to trot nowhere except my office over my garage, but big things were on deck. Beginnings were to be begun. Endings were slated to end. Ongoings were to keep going on. Important things were going to happen.
Very. Important. Things. I'm sure of it.
But that alarm — set on Sunday night when oh-so-very important things seemed oh-so-very possible — still hadn't gone off. So I lay back down to grab my last hour of slumber before the clock started on my scheduled "Day That Will Change The World." Not just my world, mind you. The world. Oh! The brilliance that today could have been!
Save for one fatal flaw ...
I scheduled it on the wrong day.
Well played, Monday. Well played.