Poppy turns over a new petal

My life is an open blog. And you're reading the chapter in which Our Heroine orders all kinds of people to Eff Off.

"Why?" you might be wondering. Well, I guess I'm finally over Christmas. And having all kinds of visitors in December. And traveling to New England and Florida in the space of three weeks. I'm even over my daughter's ninth birthday. So it's finally time to think about me.

So yesterday, all I did, pretty much, was what I wanted to do. And guess what? For the entire day, I did not want to kill or maim anyone. Not even a little bit. No, I was in a pretty good mood (even though what I wanted to do was an hour-long Yoga class followed by an hour on the elliptical, which would appear to indicate that I needed a huge infusion of endorphins.) But my mood was actually fairly cheery.

I think it's because I finally issued the big (mental and silent) "Eff Off!" to an incredibly tedious women's volunteer organization that has, over the past five or six years, sucked up way too much of my free time. I was on the board for years, doing appallingly crappy and unrewarding stuff like being the recording secretary, which involved taking the minutes for monthly board meetings FOR THREE YEARS because--why? They asked. And I knew my mother would like the fact that I was involved. She's been a member of this organization for years. She wanted her daughters to join. So we did. But I was the only daughter who, like a complete dilbert, agreed to serve on the board. For years. Even though I hated it.

Well, finally the clue phone rang so loudly that I couldn't ignore it any more. I finally realized that I didn't have the time or energy to waste on volunteer commitments that weren't fun. Or rewarding. Or that didn't do anything worthwhile. Or where bascially any warm body could do the job, and that I, Poppy, didn't actually need to be that body. My unique brand of Poppiness was not actually called for.

For example. This part year I was "program chair." Which meant I had to find speakers and arrange programs for these ladies. And this was particularly bad job for me to take on because I don't like the programs this organization tends to have. So having me find the speakers is sort of like sending me out shoe shopping. For someone else. And since the demographic of this group skews to "elderly" and "conservative," and "not up to anything interesting or challenging," it would be like shoe shopping for my white-haired next door neighbor.

So anyway, what with the clue phone's relentless ringing, I told the ladies I wouldn't do it again next year.

Well, it turns out that the experience was so invigorating that I asked my husband "Who else can I tell to fuck off?" So the "fuck off" list has been getting longer and longer.

Let's see: I dropped out of graduate school, decided to bag the Colonial Dames, and am a few months away from resigning from another board ... what's next? Decisions, decisions ... Should I burn down my children's school? Divorce my husband? Convert to a different religion? Vote for a Republican? Turn up the SPAM filtering on my email program? Oh, the possibilities! The mind boggles.

Oh, I know--here's one. If you're reading this because we used to be an item and you still think I'm shagadelic and your wife happens to be out of town ... well, the clue phone is ringing. Please answer it.