Plan C

I had a Plan A.  It was rubbish.  Nothing worked out like I envisioned.  My life is not on a course that will lead me to my Craftsman bungalow and my writing space by the window and a mutt doggie and backyard with a swingset for Maya and a hammock and a lovely outdoor dining area to kick back with friends and chat over coffee or wine or beer.  (Whew.)

So I thought to myself, it’s time to devise a Plan B.  When are you the happiest?  What/who makes you smile and laugh?  What/who challenges you and pushes you to be the best version of yourself?  What/where/who is tangled in your dream future five years from now?  Ten?  Twenty?  I made lists and plucked out the common denominators.  I brainstormed throughout the night and mixed potions and drank my Nyquil for my ongoing cough and created a six-month plan that would be the first leap to world domination and, thus, my dream lifestyle.  I’m still not sure what to do with the potions, but the rest of it was genius.  A solid road map to get from Point A to Point B.  Mad genius, I tell you.

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Saturday night I presented the plan to my desired co-conspirator.  Of course, one has to be delicate about presenting a world domination plan to your intended partner in crime.  I asked the individual to imagine life five, ten, twenty years from now.  I mentioned that I had a plan, a plan that would bring about serious bank, but there was an expiration date on my offer.  It was now or never.  Not two weeks from now or a month from now.  Now.  (There are plentiful reasons behind the now or never thing, mind you.)  It was implied that with our combined resources and creativity, abundance would inevitably follow.  Win/win.

I received a response.

No.

Oh.  Well, fuck.

So.  Plan B was not going to manifest into the greatness I wanted.  I waited all day Sunday for my heart to break.  Would it be while I scrubbed the toilet or folded the clothes?  Maybe when my head hits my fat pillow?  In the shower or over my cup of coffee?  Today I sat bewildered as I ate my soup and sandwich because, aside from my stubborn viral illness, I felt fine.  I thought I might have a delayed reaction, but the only emotion I could summon was mild disappointment.

Then it hit me:  I had finally succeeded in freeing myself.  I felt okay because I was actually okay.  It’s a strange feeling for me, this hope and acceptance.  I suddenly feel like I’m on the cusp of some momentous life changes.  I can’t explain why, only that the feeling is there.  While I still think it would have been fun to execute Plan B with the desired co-conspirator, I let the idea drift off into the sunset and politely said good-night.  

Plan C:  the same as Plan B, minus one person.  Smaller budget, which means I save money.  Less travel, which means I save money (or I can travel elsewhere… like back to Encinitas).  Less distraction, which means more focus on the project.  I have some tinkering to do with my six-month agenda.

Plan C involves domination of the universe.

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After I get over this cold.

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9 thoughts on “Plan C

    1. A treehouse! Love that idea. Climbing trees was one of my favorite childhood pastimes (and still is fun). It was a great place to read books and escape the wrath of the mom. I never had a treehouse, though. *sniff* Such a deprived childhood.

      Your mention of a treehouse made me think of this home that was featured on HGTV the other night: http://inhabitat.com/dan-phillips-builds-enchanting-and-affordable-houses-from-recycled-materials/dan-phillips-recycled-affordable-texas-houses-11/

      Sorry. I’m too lazy to shorten the link.

      Like

      1. Thanks for the link. That is great-looking.
        I have an entire book of treehouses that I page through with aspirations of “someday”, like pre-teen boys do with Playboys.

        Like

      2. Can’t stop smiling at your comment. Makes me play out a movie scene in my head: a kid ogling treehouses in a magazine, describing each one through a voice-over by adult Ralphie from A Christmas Story.

        Like

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