“Hurry!”

I’ve hollered it so much in the last few years, there was a brief span when Zoey thought that was her name.

Now I’m thinking, what’s the rush?

It’s true we live in a competition-driven world, but it’s getting a little ridiculous. The race now seems to be for the “Busiest Life” award, but what’s the prize? Exhaustion, confusion, miscommunication, a lot of missed appointments and -- to be completely honest -- a touch of crankiness. Hey, maybe that’s where road rage comes from. Not that I’ve ever personally experienced road rage.

Oh, that came too closely behind the being completely honest part, didn’t it?

Seriously, though, have you ever noticed how time-conscious every aspect of the day is? Ever had a mini-stroke waiting for the kids to find both shoes, the train to get across, the light to change or the line to move at the store?

I find myself constantly telling the kids not to skateboard off the porch, we don’t have time to clean up the mess or go to the emergency room today. It’s not a good reason, but it’s the truth.

Because we try to cram too much in a day, we can’t get to bed before midnight. That’s not a good bedtime for me. It makes getting up at 6ish tricky for a non-morning person such as myself, so I generally don’t get it done. Then, of course, I’ve started my chance at a clean slate with a black mark and bags under my eyes, so I’m behind before I even leave the gate. I hate when that happens. It makes Andy come out. Andy is my angry alter-ego. No one likes her.

Seems like we always have to be somewhere 10 minutes ago, though, doesn’t it? Fifteen minutes if you don’t hit the gazillion traffic lights in McAlester just right.

Despite the fact that everywhere I look are things to make life more convenient, time and energy expenditures more efficient, I still don’t get to make that little line through everything on my list that I’m sure would make my day a success.

Does everything we do really have to be on the run? My truck looks like a mini-mobile home that no one ever cleans. There’s part of the cheeseburger I tossed over my shoulder to Zeke, a french fry or two Zoey failed to catch on the fly, a pair of shoes, two jackets and, for some odd reason, one sock, in the back floorboard. Hmm. A meal and a change of clothes.

If you pass me on the highway or in a grocery store aisle and I’m talking to myself, don’t worry, I’m just making a verbal list of wherever I’m supposed to go, was supposed to go and forgot, or whatever I left at home that I was supposed to bring to wherever it was I forgot to go. Hearing it makes it easier to remember. Yes, that’s it, I’ll go with that.

But back to the race. Is it just me, or are people actually competing for who is the busiest?

Casual conversations tend to turn into marathon itemized schedules, flying back and forth like tennis balls at Wimbledon. The phrase “You think you’re busy?” gets thrown around regularly, and is commonly followed by another, lengthier itemized schedule. It all usually starts innocently enough, with a casual request to get together for lunch, or something. But then somewhere along the way, it becomes a duel to see who has the most going on. Aren’t priorities a little skewed? I’m as competitive as the next person, but that’s a race I’ll gladly concede.

If I hear the phrase “Welcome to my world,” one more time, after being asked if I have time to do something and the answer is no, I think I’ll turn Andy loose. I’m not even welcome in my world, so why would I subject myself to someone else’s?

Besides, I’m planning a hostile takeover of my world, and I think that’s going to keep me busy for a while. It’s time to control the schedule, instead of the schedule controlling me.

I have finally noticed that what I didn’t get done yesterday is still patiently waiting for me today. If it’s not, it’s because some other equally, or possibly more (gasp), capable individual handled it already. Either that, or it wasn’t so life-altering after all, and I need to move on.

In a refreshing interview, I picked up a really good tidbit from my subject the other day. She said that life is too short to make your own mistakes. Anyway, that’s what I heard. It made sense to me. It’s always obvious what other people are doing wrong, so I say let them be the guinea pigs. Perhaps I could be a spectator for a while, and just watch other people run themselves ragged.

I’m thinking, however, that holding up a mirror might be the best place to begin my hostile takeover. When I see myself running past it, I think I’ll stick my foot out.

That ought to slow me down.

Contact Mandy Carter at 421-2027 or send e-mail to mcarter@mcalesternews.com