I’ve actually been up for hours but it’s been spent trying to shove the children who have class into some kind of space where they can actually be ready for that terrifying eventuality. It was really nice to have the scholastic calendar account for Holy Week, but it would have been even more charming if we could have had two weeks off–modern life is so relentless. Anyway, they are the only ones showing up for anything, the rest of us are still lying around trying to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other.
Probably in my misspent youth I looked at a week ‘off’ as a time to galavant off in some direction to look at something or do something ‘fun’ although it’s hard to remember if that was ever the case. Maybe it’s just my imagining that when I was younger I got up and carried on with the next thing. There’s a myth in my own memory that after giving birth to my third child, we stopped at the park on the way home with the other two, you know, because they wanted to play. I guess I wandered pretty easily around a playground and pushed kids in swings and was all cheerful. It’s sort of appalling to think about.
No, now a week ‘off’ means just trying to be kind of at the same place you were when you started, vertical, and without gray bags under your eyes. Sorry, not you, I mean me.
Anyway. Enough of that. Back to the laundry. Just going to go gaze at it in a cheerful way, and maybe pick up a sock off the floor, and then go sit down again. See you tomorrow!