Umm, this might sound weird and disorganized, but . . .

For thirty some years I have resisted the Franklin Planner people. My mother being a member of the cult of Franklin, I have been to their stores (mall churches). I receive their shiny catalogs, with pretty stretched dead cow in decorative colors holding bits of paper and books that will evidently make my life more complete with just seven daily habits. Every couple of years or so, my mother tries in vain to convert me . . .

While I have never actually bought a Franklin, I have at least ten empty planners of different flavors stuck in a drawer, mostly because they have ancient addresses in them. I wrote these addresses on the day I bought the planners. After the address book fest (which only will include things from my memory, I won’t go back and look at the other abandoned planners . . . which is why I am storing all of them) it just never comes together. I never write in them again. I’ll carry them around for a week or two, put receipts in them though I’m not sure why. My mother’s always has neatly filed receipts, so I assume that you are supposed to be putting all your receipts in them.

But this is a woman who has every receipt from every purchase since 1968. No really, she admits it on her blog. (see sidebar) (Yes, I know it’s weird to have a mom with a blog when you are over the age of fourteen) It’s like she is going to have to prove it’s all hers to get into heaven or something.

Once we were in the Franklin church . . . I’m mean, store . . . and my mother convinced me to buy one with all the fixin’s. The bill came to over $150 and I believe I returned it the next day. Thank goodness for the receipt saving gene.

So I cannot make use of a planner. I’m too right brained, too disorganized, too lazy to carry the damn thing around . . . however, it would have been nice this morning if I could get over it. I am finally at a time in my life where I have a lot of appointments. Doctor’s appointments, hair appointments, union meetings, work meetings, Starbuck’s blind date meetings . . . Before I just wandered through life, calling for things at the last minute but now I have high maintenance hair, high maintenance nails, high maintenance sinuses . . .

So I wake up this morning at 5:30 a.m., on a freaking Saturday, because I am in a panic about my hair appointment. Did I make it for this week? Or next week? It’s very hard to get a Saturday appointment and if you miss one . . . well, you’re off the list AND you piss your hair professional off. No one wants to deal with that. It's very hard to find a good hair professional who will take requests such as "I think I'd like it colored like Elmo on Sesame Street" and not laugh at you or simply refuse to do it because that's insane. So at 5:30, I’m digging through my purse to find the little card they gave me. I’m searching the truck, while wondering if I even took the truck last time I went to get a haircut. I’m searching the internet for the phone number of the hair place.

I give up and go back to bed. I then get up at 8:30, and decide to drive out to Milford anyway, just to be safe. If I have an appointment, I’ll be on time . . . if I don’t, I’ll hang at Stately Wayne Manor. I’m in Milford by the time the place opens and my phone call begins with “Ummm. . . I know this sounds weird and disorganized but . . . do I have an appointment today or next Saturday?” Turns out my appointment is next Saturday at noon. I’ll have fresh red for the Nine Inch Nails concert.

So it dawns on me . . . this is why people join the cult of Franklin. If I had a planner, and wrote in it, I wouldn’t be searching underneath the seats of my truck at 5:30 on a Saturday morning. (I did find stuff I needed, like the Audioslave jewel case that I was missing) I wouldn’t have to panic when the doctor’s office calls about an appointment I made four months ago, which is the next day . . . and I already have forty-two other things to do. I might know when things were . . . be able to plan a week . . . not have journals due the same night as the hockey game I’m attending. I could have a place for all the receipts I receive that I could then organize and file once a week. I could schedule time to “sharpen my saw” . . . I’ve always wanted a sharpened saw, right?

Yeah . . . right. Get real. Never, ever going to happen. That would be like . . . well . . . putting the pens with the other pens.