I’m extremely scheduled. It is not my favorite aspect of my life. But when people ask me how I manage to get so much done, I have an answer:  I’m scheduled.

Last week I promised someone that while I was in the area on Saturday, I’d stop by her new coffee bar to sample the coffee. Which I did. Because I put it into my schedule, and my iPhone reminded me.

How do I remember to pick up my 8-year-old from school? It’s in my schedule. (And woe to me — and the kid — if I ever lose the phone. I hope he’ll have enough snacks for overnight.) Haircut? Concert? My wife’s work schedule? Even something as simple as “Get up”? They’re all in my schedule. As I said, I’m not proud of this.

Here’s what’s not in my schedule:  my memory. Because  tonight at five minutes before 7 p.m., there was a ring at my door and I greeted the nice theatre people outside this way:  “I thought we said 7:30.” And yes, I felt pretty crummy the moment I blurted that out. At the very least, I could have said hello first. To make it worse, it was correct in my schedule (and wrong in my brain), because there it was in my schedule that tonight’s rehearsal was set to start at 7 — and it’s Wednesday night’s rehearsal, for a different play of mine, that was scheduled to start at 7:30.

So now I have to put something new in my schedule:  “Remember to read schedule before making ass of yourself.”

This entry was posted on Monday, May 23rd, 2011 at 9:25 pm and is filed under Playwriting, Theatre, Thoughts, Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.