Twenty to Life

May 2, 2006 § 7 Comments

I was held hostage. For weeks. Months. I was in a Siberian prison on suspicion of being an international spy. They don’t have any WiFi in Siberian prisons.

That didn’t really happen.

You may have guessed that.

Actually, I do feel as though I’ve been held hostage…by life. Nothing has seemed to go as planned lately. Everything I do to help strategize my days and weeks has fallen by the wayside as I run to catch up.

I vowed to myself last night that it would stop…today. Beginning today I would be in control. Today is my day off, and I have a plan to spend a beautiful day with my parents who are visiting from Ohio and relax at home in the evening with good food, a good movie, and my loved ones.

I don’t know that any of that will happen. But, when I woke up this morning I realized…it doesn’t need to.

I was supposed to sleep in this morning.

I generally have trouble sleeping when all of my airways are blocked.

I was having a dream where Chilean terrorists had taken me hostage, and had sent me to be tortured for information. My torturer, Ryan Seacrest (no, I’m not kidding), thought that blocking my airways might be a good way to get me to talk. I calmly tried to explain to him that covering my nose and mouth makes it very difficult to give up much information, but, well, my mouth was covered and it came out as that strange gurgling sound I tend to make in dreams when I try to speak.

Well, I woke up to find that Ryan Seacrest, the Chilean terrorist thug, was actually my dog. In mornings, of late, Webber has taken to crawling up alongside me until his shoulders are level with mine, and then he throws is head sideways overtop of me so that my face is buried in the folds of white fur that are his neck. This is his passive-aggressive way of telling me that it really is time for me to get him some breakfast. I try to tell him that covering my nose and mouth makes it very difficult for me to get him any breakfast because it could kill me, but, well, he’s a dog and I think it sounds to him much like the gurgling I make when being tortured by Chilean terrorists.

Actually, he probably understands me perfectly but thinks, “Well…it’s working so far.”

So, I got up and gave him some breakfast, and I realized. This is life. Everyone says, “Life is what you make it.” I don’t necessarily think that’s true. I think life is what you make OF it. Now, perhaps, that’s what “everyone” has meant all along, and I’m just an idiot, but if they don’t put in the word “of” much less capitalize it for emphasis, how am I supposed to know? I assumed they meant that you had to go out and make life happen, which, now that I think of it does make me an idiot because life happens just because you’re living, right?

Anyway.

Sure, I will take steps to simplify my life and not let it take me for a ride, but more importantly, I think, I’m going to choose to enjoy what comes no matter how far outside my plan it might exist. And hopefully I’ll live to blog about it.

(Um, I wrote this last Monday. Just got around to posting it. Obviously, things did not go as “planned.”)

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