MY ANXIETY COMES FROM THE T.V.

I hung my Wild & Scenic Michigan 2007 calendar on the kitchen wall only to have it taken down and filled full of doctors and dentist’s appointments, Science Olympiad meetings, presentations and events, birthdays, anniversaries, and whatever else my significant other deems important. Since I’m not a long term planner (and as exciting as watching wet paint dry), I wake up most mornings staring at the date, wondering how much fun I might be having if I could only do whatever I wanted. I simply dream about how I might squeeze a few fun-filled moments into my life. For instance, I’ve always wanted to go to the Ann Arbor book fair, however, it’s usually the same week as my annual catfish tournament, which, incidentally, is the only event I pencil in every year once I get the details. I shouldn’t have scheduling conflicts when it comes to things that interest me.

I used to count going to the gym at five o’clock in the morning and running six miles as quality time for myself, but as I get older and wiser, I treat it for what it is—a way to burn calories and boost my metabolism rate while half-asleep. What can I say? If I’m going to feel like a gerbil on a wheel, I might as well make it as painless as possible. Maybe I need to get a hobby, something more than the occasional Sudoku puzzle or television show to occupy my mind.

More and more, I study that damn calendar like an inmate studies the hashmarks on his cell wall. Allow me to do some quick math regarding “eighty and out,” (My Age + Years of Employment = Retirement). I’m forty-three with fifteen years of teaching in the Department of Corrections. That’s fifty-eight. Subtract that from eighty. Twenty-two. Cut that number in half. Eleven. Yeah right, as if I’ll be able to retire when I’m fifty-four (54 + 26 = 80). After completing his first year of retirement, my dad said, “I don’t know where I ever found the time to go to work, I’m busier now than ever before.” Imagine that! When is it going to be my turn?