Plans...or lack thereof

I am a serial planner.

It's kind of like being a serial murderer, only I ritualistically execute plans instead of people, and there is little chance of being jailed unless an unforeseen snafu makes my plans null and void and I go on a flame thrower-charged killing spree.

Perhaps my greatest planning accomplishment was our wedding day (including all of the events leading up to and following said day, down to the quarter hour). However, as I mentioned before, when my carefully thought-out plans are interrupted by some conniving outside interference, I get completely thrown off kilter and go in search of something large and metal that shoots fire at my command. For example, when we were scheduled to have access to Thomas Duncan Community Hall at 2:00 p.m. for the wedding ceremony (we arrived fifteen minutes early and waited patiently before ringing the doorbell), the caretaker decided to take a nap and sleep through our continuous (and later desperate) doorbell ringing, knocking on every door and window, and hysterical crying. In case you were wondering, it was me having the tear-filled meltdown. My plans had been thwarted! Thrown off by half an hour! Instead of the leisurely dressing and make-up preparation with pre-ceremony photographs of the bridal party members I had envisioned, we raced around like mad women (the guys weren't quite as worried as it took them five minutes to prepare). And we were sweating. Because the air conditioning wasn't turned on until we entered the building half an hour late. In July. I finally pulled it together without any significant casualties (the caretaker*** hid away behind a closed office door), but it was an unpleasant deviation on a day that I'd planned to a T.

Now, my planning obsession has come to a sudden halt. The outcome of our housing situation is not in our hands anymore; I cannot be in control of the situation. I feel impotent. Until Husband and I receive an all-important phone call and (hopefully) persevere through some additional negotiations, I don't feel as though I can confront the plans that are already swirling in my mind: what color should we paint the cabinets and walls; what kind of carpeting and kitchen tile should we buy; should I ask my mother to make us curtains or should I just purchase them ready-made; should we switch the gas stove to electric now or not make the switch at all; where should we purchase a dining room table and chairs and pots and pans and plates; what would be the best approach to unpacking and organizing; where will this knick-knack go; how will I hang this picture; should we repaint the garage door and shutters and complete a landscaping overhaul or wait until after winter; and on, and on, and on.

You're sure that phone is on, right?

***I suppose you could call the caretaker a casualty after all. I wrote a letter of disappointment in his performance to the director of Duncan Hall. The caretaker was fired (I believe his MIA act on our wedding day was not his first screw up) and I got a partial refund. Ah, the power of righteous anger (and a bitchy bride).