A Journal of My Mid-Life Crisis

22 November 1998 - An Ideal Week

No, the week I had was not an ideal one. But I've been thinking about just what an ideal week would be like. Of course, to be fair, I have to contemplate an ideal work week, not a vacation week. I came up with something like this:

On Monday I get up well-rested, having kept reasonable hours all weekend, instead of staying up till 2 a.m. and screwing up my sleep patterns. I eat a bowl of cereal (not something I am fussy about so probably my usual puffed kashi, which I buy on the grounds that it is cheap and nutritious and tastes good), along with some fresh strawberries, which are magically in season despite it being November and relax over the Wall Street Journal with a cup of coffee (Sumatra Mandheling or perhaps even Yemen Moka). The traffic on the 405 is remarkably light and it takes me under 15 minutes to get to my office. When I arrive, I discover that a) the weekly Monday morning staff meeting is canceled, b) my boss is not foolish enough to attempt one of his rare Monday afternoon staff meetings since he knows that not enough people are around for one, c) the person who has the office next to mine who has an astonishingly irritating voice is on vacation, d) the temperature in my office is a perfect 72 degrees Fahrenheit, and e) there is actually hot water in the lady's room. I sit down at the computer, read my email which consists entirely of various jokes that people have sent me and write my weekly highlights in only 15 minutes as I have nothing to write about that I have to be careful to be tactful over. I spend the rest of the morning catching up on assorted work related reading, both paper and electronic. At lunchtime, I don't have any errands at all to run so I meet a friend for lunch at Souplantation. In the afternoon I go to a meeting where everyone is prepared and focused and there are no attendees who waste time bringing up issues that were resolved months ago. As a result, the meeting ends early and I go back to my office where I send email to a few people who need to know about the agreements reached and tell them what wonderful progress we made. The afternoon traffic is just as light as the morning traffic was and I get home in 15 minutes. I take in the mail which consists entirely of letters and greeting cards from friends - no bills, no begging letters, no junk mail. I change my clothes, swim 1/2 mile in the pool, and come back upstairs and shower and get dressed again. The refrigerator is full and I stir fry various vegetables, tofu and fresh ginger which I eat with rice for supper, accompanied by a bottle of Old Peculier ale. I check my email and find long chatty notes from several people. I log out right after checking my mail, spend 1/2 hour reading part of a murder mystery, then go out to a coffeehouse where I chat with friends for a couple of hours. I come back home, where I listen to music while writing an entire chapter of the novel I'm working on, and then go to bed, where I fall asleep immediately.

The rest of the work week continues in this vein, with perhaps one night in Boulder or a day trip to Sunnyvale, where all of my meetings are productive. One night I go to a story swap, where I tell a new story to universal acclaim. Another night I take a jazz dance class. By the end of the week, I'm 50 pages further along in the novel and I've also had time to finish a needlepoint I've been working on. Thursday night I bake bread for the next week. My maid comes on Friday so I come home to a spotless apartment.

On the weekend, I continue to get up just as early as I do on weekdays, knowing that I feel better when I keep regular hours (though I might permit myself an afternoon nap). Saturday morning I go to synagogue and then have lunch with 3 or 4 friends afterwards. We go to a museum and see a special exhibit in the afternoon. I come home and read or do needlework for a while, then shower and change clothing for my date with an intersting man I met the previous week at Dutton's. We have dinner at La Serenata, then go out dancing. Having satisfied 2 of the 3 components of a date (food, entertainment) we return to my apartment for the third component (affection).

Sunday morning is time for a leisurely reading of both the L.A. Times and the NY Times, along with a splurgy breakfast of french toast, made with a special addition of a dash of Meyer's Rum. Okay, I'll throw in a tad more realism and call my mother and make sure everything is alright, but since this is a fantasy week she tells me that she has quit smoking and she does not make any attempt to put the cat on the phone. Around 10 a.m. I drive up to the Point Mugu area where I go for a 10 mile hike in the mountains. I drive back, stopping to do my weekly grocery shopping. I spend the evening playing Scrabble with friends and get three 7-letter words, one of them on a triple word score with a z on a double letter square. It takes me just a half hour to write my weekly journal entry and I dread the email from people who are jealous of just how wonderful my life is.

Of course, the reality of my week was a tad different. Well, one of the meetings I went to in Boulder was productive and I did have some wonderful meals there (salmon at Zolo, a Korean hotpot at Panasia Fusion and my favorite Mexican omelette for breakfast at Walnut Cafe). And it didn't snow. But I was stuck in a center seat on the flight home, my other meeting was a complete waste of time, and there was a horrible wind storm Wednesday morning which woke me up at 4 a.m.. I was minimally productive at work and even less so at home, though at least I did finally get the stereo hooked up and I've made a little progress on unpacking (though still lots more to do). I wasted more time on playing computer games (at home) and on netnews than I'd really like to and I spent too much money on things I probably don't really need, having gone on a bit of an art supply binge at Flax. (I went in to buy ink and bought a bunch of other things as well. There is a reason I don't go there often!) On the plus side, Tellebration went well though I was only about 70% pleased with my performance, as I didn't feel as completely in control of my telling as I like to. Still, I got good audience reaction, so I am probably just being my own harshest critic.

One can only hope for next week.