He was a relaxed enough guy I thought, but there was something that really riled him about last-minute changes. I delved. It didn't seem to be an anti-spontaneity thing, he was quick to roll with a new plan, as long as it somehow fitted into his bigger picture. It was more about a change which involved some loss of control, resulting in a kind of pre-ordered (or preordained) fun-factor. Let's not go home and box set, let's, have some beers and Find the Night! I hadn't quite figured out his issues, but it was something about someone else owning the right to his successful times. Perhaps.
I shared how I am absolutely driven by a spontaneous change of plan, as long as I had no hand in its instigation. Can you work tonight? Yes, money sounds great and I have nothing to do. Sorry I can't make our picnic date, am I utterly selfish and are you mortified? No that's fine, and I actually have a feeling of great lightness and upended freedom, so cancel away! Something excites me about the way things are, not being quite so. We plan our days, fill our weeks, organise our lives away, in fact. With my A6 Moleskine week-to-page, fortnights spread across the open book look worryingly brief. It makes me wonder whether my squandering achievement level isn't directly related to the size of my diary. Perhaps an A1 flip chart next year?
Despite my winsome crusade for the unknown, I recently suffered a countering wobble. Excitement disappears when actuality falls short of our ever-optimistic hopes. When face to face with THE WAY THINGS ARE IN MY HEAD NOT TURNING OUT THE WAY THINGS SHOULD BE. This isn't the way it was supposed to be! And far from being more impressive and liberated than what we'd expected, everything is just worse. I suppose you have to take all results with the knowledge that anything could have happened, but only this one thing could actually have happened. Take the light with the heavy.
So today I was to meet a friend late pm, which I swapped for a spontaneous waitress shift, that I was then beaten to, which resulted in lying out in late mosquito sun, and meant I could once again make the outdoor screening of Harold and Maude (perfect for this mood). Break plans for something better, call it Making Better Plans. But be prepared to change. Again. I certainly flourished in the rays of shifting options, my surfaces sufficiently prickled and whirled to create a larger area of seeping potential. Logical living is all well and good, but the unknown if where the good stuff (might) happen. Is it too paradoxical to cultivate a wildness?