When I was in college and summer came about, madness ensued. I would be on my bean bag (couch? How much money do you think I had?), chugging canned cheese and skittles in my underwear and a tanktop. When the chemical cheese high passed, there would be moments of moaning and singing hallelueah. I’m not a college student anymore, but the relief is just as strong.
Things have been spiraling out of control for me fairly fast. I work at a very small college, so I don’t have lackeys. I have to organize, order, administrate and a whole load of stuff outside of teaching, and I tend to run really long weeks. So when summer comes across, I have manic moments, swinging between embracing the holiday and immense guilt, followed by subsequent busy-work. I decided to record these moments for your entertainment.
Day 1: Stay in pajamas until husband goes home. Have icecream for dinner.
Day 2: Actually ask hubby what day it is, because my internal clock runs via homework assignments.
Day 3: Spend 4 hours on my hands and knees, digging rocks out of the ground before planting steppable moss. While wearing pajamas.
Day 4: Get my teeth cleaned. Sweep all cobwebs off front of house, spray house, window screens, and sweep/scrub walkway. Follow with 6 straight hours of tv. Bad tv. No History Channel, PBS or any other educational crap here, son.
Day 5: Wake up with migraine from watching tv yesterday. When excedrine doesn’t work, spend all afternoon in pool as home remedy. In evening, clean and chlorinate pools out of guilt.
Day 6: Am told my in-laws are coming to visit. Spend the whole day cleaning the house, including ever-so-important areas like the back of my closet and dusting my large collection of dunnies. Because these are the things they will care about, right?
Day 7: Try (and fail) to enjoy my last day til inlaws arrive. Failed attempts include eating my last bowl of lucky charms, changing into every pair of slouchy clothes (read as pajama substitute) I own, and plan escape routes for every touristy activity my husband will provide for his parents*.
I need to be better at having time off. I feel the need to be lazier and more productive simultaneously. I might just explode.
*Side note: I found Belly Dancing classes and Salsa classes we could take his parents to. My husband says that would be torture for his parents, but I reminded him of the torture of the incident with his mother’s swimsuit. He then responded that it’s not appropriate to hold a grudge and remember every past slight as a way to win an argument. (And I don’t do that. Most of the time) I responded by saying it wasn’t my fault I had such awful experiences to draw from. I would think he would want me to have better memories of his family, which I am trying to create by amusing myself at their very awkward expense.
Of course, he didn’t think I’d be able to get them to go belly dancing, but I know he’s wrong, and told him so. His whole family operates under catholic guilt. Deep, deep guilt. All I have to do is mention some awful past experience, and they will be putty in my hands. Or more like putty under brass cymbals.