Wednesday, July 12, 2000

 

1:21 a.m. I actually -- as of a few days ago -- own a cell phone of my own and I *still* can't seem to make the call on time. Midnight comes on the East Coast at 9 p.m. my time, and there I was tonight, oblivious although I'd marked three calendars, savoring the very satisfying ending of tonight's Survivor and basking in the warm TV glow when I realized that I'd missed my magic moment. Again.

I believe that everyone in my family knows by now that I screw up the phone thing just about every time. And here's why, for starters: when I figure in the three-hour difference, it is inescapable that I nap at the wrong time, I wake up at the wrong time, and of course I stay up far too late to do any phone-calling good.

The bigger problem? I'm not all that comfortable making the call. I don't know why this is ... I picture extreme eye-rolling at the other end of the line and a wave of unhappiness rolling over the person at the other end of the line because I've pulled someone away from: dinner, favorite tv show, a more important call, and/or sleep.

So, to make myself feel better about the intrusion, I try to find the perfect window of time -- maybe right before dinner, but not too close to dinner -- and when is dinner? Varies. Varies from coast to coast and from generation to generation. That today, for instance. Today we never got around to dinner.

Today was extremely hectic and nerve-wracking, even though I wasn't at the all-important meeting. I was there in sprit, of course. Worrying as much as possible, as is my job. My cell phone was there, however, and that's all that matters. The meeting turned out very well, and Igor phoned to tell me so right away. Getting phone calls in a timely manner is so comforting, don't you think?

You'd think I'd learn. I've learned a bunch of things over the last few years. There's hope. Improvement is possible. I've learned, for instance, that most jobs, dreaded or not, take only 6 to 10 minutes to complete. Changing the bed. Emptying the dishwasher. Scouring the sink. Watering the plants. Avoidance is futile.

I've also learned that I like myself better if I eat a whole lot less and keep my head metaphysically bigger than my stomach. Keep my thoughts focused on thoughts and words and paper and more thoughts, rather than on what I've recently eaten. If I'm aware that I have a body, I've eaten too much.

I'd like to look like one of the women on Survivor -- fit and tanned and strong and muscular and able to twist a scarf into a halter one day and a hammock the next. I'd like to be able to tie tight knots and eat fluffy rice out of a tiny coconut and push off to sea on a bamboo raft.

I'm working toward the perfect day, and I predict that tomorrow will be that day.