The older I get, the more obsessed I am with maintaining control over my time. My son tells me I’m too generous with my time, but he has no idea. I selfishly and unashamedly guard every minute like a bouncer at a Taylor Swift concert. When I am in my groove, whether exercising, meditating, reading a good book, or just chilling, interruptions annoy me worse than a loud-mouth gum snapper. Even while writing this post, I’ve had five interruptions – three phone calls, one text ping, and Amazon at the door. Aiiiiiiih!!! (Sorry, I couldn’t suppress that scream.)
Extroverts might think my life boring. Wrong! I’ve been happily retired for 15 years and am still enjoying my home life. That doesn’t mean I would pass up an offer to live in a secluded cabin in the mountains of Colorado for a quiet writing place. Nevertheless, even in the noisy, bustling city, I’m a bonafide homebody and proud of it!
I know several retirees who, if they aren’t out globe-trotting (bless ’em) or being the life of a party, feel like they are under house arrest. Not me. I don’t like to travel, and I’m not a party animal, nor do I feel the need to socialize constantly; if I do, there’s always Facebook. Since my FB friends are inside the computer and not in the room with me, I can evade drama with one click.
Face-to-face interaction is not as easily avoided. If a friend unexpectedly stops by my place to visit (when I’m in the middle of writing and fantasizing about being the author of the world’s most extraordinary novel or kicking butt in a computerized word game), I smile politely, invite them in, and we chat until they decide to leave. I can’t say (after 10 or 15 minutes), “Okay, you’ve been here long enough. Get going now.” That thought might be in my head, but being rude is not in my nature (and neither is dropping in on someone without calling first). I recently saw a unique doormat in a magazine. Instead of Welcome, it reads, “If you didn’t call first, I’m not home.” That won’t stop my close friends and relatives, but they’ll get a laugh out of it.
Another thing that annoys me is lengthy phone conversations. And let me tell you, even a boss can learn something. I have a dear friend who shares my first name. We met and immediately bonded in junior high school. The last time we saw each other was in 2002, at the funeral of another beloved alumna who died a year after we attended our 35th high school reunion. As we parted, I hugged my namesake and said, “Call me sometimes.”
She said she’d send me an occasional note to stay in touch, then explained that she doesn’t like talking on the phone. I thought that was the strangest thing. What woman doesn’t like talking on the phone? Over a decade later, I get it because I’m the same way now. (Always the late bloomer.) Some women can talk on the phone for hours, like teenagers. Not this woman. My time is limited. I treasure every second. Unless a phone call concerns something important, any conversation lasting longer than a few minutes is too long for me.
Oh, and one more peeve before I give it a rest. Working out at the fitness center used to be my jam. The gym opens at 6 a.m. Three days a week, I get up around 5:30, wash up, grab my gear, and hit the pavement. Fortunately, I have a gym within walking distance of my home, and I enjoy going there most of the time. But there are days…
Some people probably go to the gym to socialize while working out, but I don’t. Not to be misunderstood, I’ve made some good friends at the gym, especially in the years before COVID shut down everything. I waited several months before returning after it reopened. I’ve been back for six months, enjoying myself, rowing, walking on the treadmill, doing lat pull-downs. Just about any vigorous exercise puts me in the zone. For that reason, I don’t particularly appreciate talking while I’m working out.
Most days, I can exercise without interruption. But occasionally, a certain retired gentleman, whom I will not name, approaches me and starts a conversation. He isn’t flirtatious, don’t get me wrong. He just likes to talk – about politics, his wife and family, the bad news on TV, and how the city has changed since he was a kid – anything. Sometimes, I keep repeating “Uh huh” in response to whatever he says, as if I’m working out so strenuously that I don’t have enough breath to hold a conversation. You would think that would deter him. It doesn’t. He keeps talking.
When I see him taking a break from training and walking around the room, I know he’s in talk mode. I try to avoid looking in his direction. I also keep my earbuds in even if my iPod is off, although that’s not always a deterrent. He’ll ignore the buds and start talking to me anyway, so I feign politeness and remove them, but instead of tucking them in my pocket, I continue holding them in my fingers, inches from my ears, hoping he’ll get the message. Make it quick! Occasionally, I’ll keep the earbuds in my ears and repeat, “Huh? Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.” That doesn’t work either. If you think he’ll read this post and get the message, don’t bet on it.
Sometimes, when he is very long-winded, I feel so annoyed I cut my exercise short and leave. Other times, while continuing to work out, I imagine I “inadvertently” drop a five-pound dumbbell on his foot. That might shut him up – temporarily, while he’s swearing, holding the leg with the smashed toes up by the knee, and hopping around on the good foot. Bad idea. I know. But I can’t help what mischievous thoughts enter my mind, now can I? And in civil court, I’ll say, “Your honor, It was an accident. I am so sorry, but he wouldn’t shut up, and as I went to wave him off, the weight slipped from my sweaty hand and landed on his foot.” (Smirk and stifle a wicked laugh.)
Even a retired lady can think like a boss.
