The Planner

I had always been the type of kid who needed a planner. I liked to have everything organized and ready to go when I needed it. My family wasn’t quite as organized as I would like them to be, but I had grown accustomed to the wild and crazy life we lived. Almost to the point where I didn’t understand spending time at my friends’ houses where everything had an exact spot and their houses looked like nobody lived there.  

When there was no noise and no dust, I just couldn’t fathom what they did at home. Did they eat and sleep in their homes and that was it? Did they ever really have friends over or have parties? My house was always full of laughter and disorganization and the only place I ever got any peace and quiet was in my bedroom. It was also the only place with no dust and no mess. My planner was almost as used as much as my diary and held all the minute details of what I did every day. The day my planner disappeared was the first day I felt any anxiety. My entire life (or at least the last year of it) was in that planner and I needed it as much as I needed to breathe. And the only person who knew how much I needed my planner was my cousin. And my therapist. I just never expected my dog to have been the one to chew it up.