Plans and Other Fantasies

My boss sat me down to ask me what my three year plan was this week.

The honest answer is that I’m not planning, and especially not three years in advance. I have deadlines I have to meet—like the one this November—but I simply can’t imagine having a detailed plan for anything, anymore.

I’m not entirely convinced that tomorrow will happen the way it did yesterday, and that’s even with a 8-4(ish) office job.

Might die on the way to work by wreck. Might abruptly quit. Might stand up and start gibbering. Might decide to day drink and simply not come back. It’s unlikely because I need that paycheck, but not impossible.

I wasn’t expecting to find this as void of anxiety as I am right now. Not fantasizing about what I might do if this or that or over time is oddly comforting. I’m not wasting any energy on it. I don’t have to feel compelled to plan, compelled to make the universe honor my plans and guilty if they don’t succeed.

I am free to inhabit the now.

I’ve had spirits checking on me this week. They’ve been checking to see if I repudiate my choice, if I bitch and moan and regret it. I had a bit of emotion on the topic of officially rejoining the marginalized population I tried so hard to escape, but even to that, I can only say what I have.

This is exactly what I signed up for. I’m yours, my loves, and I ain’t sorry for shit.