tracey’s busy calendar

I’ve made a deeply horrifying discovery. It feels like death. Like Look-at-the-Ark-of-the-Covenant-and-melt-your-Nazi-face-off SCARY DEATH.

See, when I was in college, I didn’t keep a journal, per se. Oh, no. I was far too consumed with angst to actually write about it. No mere words would have been ANGSTY enough to convey the depth and brilliance of my singular angst, The World’s Greatest Angst Ever. I was Angst Incarnate. A shining star of pain. I was insufferable.

Please get THE HELL out of my way.

Besides all that, I had my burgeoning career as The World’s Most Maudlin Actress to busy my time, my vital volunteer work as a perpetual Parental Disappointment, the occasional book skimming, and the approximately thrice-weekly shames dates with a Hostess Fruit Pie where I’d never even ask how it was doing or what its sign was before I’d scoop its guts out, toss ’em aside, and greedily devour the thick, golden, slightly fruit-sodden crust while dreaming of the latest boy who still didn’t love me.

So, let’s review, shall we, this concise, but apt, description of my collegiate soul:

1) Angsty
2) Maudlin
3) Caring Volunteer
4) Lazy Ass
5) Gross

See that??

Do you SEE how consumed and busy and filled to the brim I was!? No time for journalling!! No time at ALL!!!

But then …… there were always these calendars I kept, either an old-fashioned type hanging on my wall or a day planner type hidden in a drawer. And that’s where I’d chronicle my big, busy, bounteous days. In those little calendar spaces. Those one-inch squares. Inch-and-a-half squares, tops. THOSE spaces.

And mostly, I’d just list my days:

“Went to dinner.
Carne asada.
Later, barfed.
I’m so pissed at Dave!”

You know, juicy stuff like that. Because what are you gonna do with an inch-and-a-half tops?? Everything was sketchy, hazy, nothing in depth. I would say the BIGGEST things and then ….. nothing. The WEIRDEST things and then …. no explanation. No detail. Nada. Phfffftttt. Remember, EVERYTHING WAS ALL TOO TOO BIG AND TOO TOO DEEP TO EVEN FIT IN THE WHOLE OF THE WORLD, SO WHY EVEN BOTHER??

Words? Feh. Words were for losers, I guess.

So instead, thought 19-year-old me, while chomping on a Fruit Pie crust, I’ll bet, let’s just write lists, sketches, random sentences. Let’s just keep pages of oddments and crap and rubbish and assume that someday, if I ever come across these imbecilic calendars again, I’ll effortlessly glue my past back together from these hasty, sloppy scraps and — ta da! — suddenly remember what the HELL I was hardly even talking about!!!!

Well, the other day, I found these calendars in a box labeled “Stuff That Should be Burned to Teeny Tiny Blow-Away Ashes” And there they were, with all their pen and paper and calendar molecules still intact, not even singed or charred. We are lazy. We also don’t read labels, I guess.

These, uh, “entries” are basically the polar opposite of these classics, these epics by my blog friend, Sheila. And with her gracious blessing, because she SO appreciates anything absurd, I offer: Tracey’s Busy Calendar.

Big Day 1, (I am 19):

August 11

DF called today to bug me.
He succeeded.

Um, I think I had a crush on this DF irritant. Obviously, not that deep, since that’s all he’s worth for the day. Oh, and that’s the whole day, people. See the sketchiness? HOW did he bug you, Tracey? WHAT did he do?? Did anything ELSE happen in that entire day, you sad little weirdo??

Big Day 2: (“S” is my sister)

August 14

Today was LUAU day.
Kirk took my picture for church records.
(That sounds vaguely creepy and institutional.)
Joked around.
Asked him if his name was “Kirk as in ‘Beam me up, Scotty'”
(I cannot HATE myself more right now.)
At the LUAU, he served steak kabobs.
I joke around with S and try to get her to eat a lime.
(Because limes are hilarious, of course.)

So, wow. Another BUSY day. This was three days later and “Beam me up, Scotty” Kirk was another guy I had a crush on who didn’t, apparently, bug me as much as DF did. Whether I bugged him or not I will leave to your discernment. I have no idea why it was a “LUAU” instead of a “luau.” It just was.

All right. Enough for now. I literally can’t take it anymore. I was so hopelessly immature and sheltered for my age. GOOD LORD!!

That’s what growing up Baptist does, people.

The horror. The HORROR.