I love my planner. I always have. It's small, compact, and a lovely shade of blue. I love it so much that I still keep the 2009 & 2010 inserts and flip through them from time-to-time in a quite moment of reflection! I once thought I lost my planner and was devastated. Inconsolable. Thought my world was crashing down around me. When finally it resurfaced from the depths of my "mom purse", I promised never to be so careless again.
But these days, my planner and I have had a bit of a falling out. I suppose it's not entirely the planners fault; what with those bossy Egyptians and Romans dictating it's basic outline. But, who else can I blame for the horror that has become the months of June, July, and August? Me!
Hardly my fault. Each weekend "box" had been carefully color-coded (by me) with cabin weekends, play dates, company picnics, and family weddings. But despite all my loving attention and organization, my planner viciously turned its back on me. White-out stains of abandoned engagements have turned my color-coding system to a blurry mess. Careless reschedules have been, of all things, penciled in leaving unattractive lead-smears in their wake. In short, my planner has allowed hasty planning to run amok and allowed my summer to completely become out of control. I suppose it was inevitable, but still. I feel my planner owes me an apology (and possibly a massage gift certificate) for all the stress its caused. Only then will I consider allowing it back into my life, my purse, and my favor.
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