This is it. Summer is over and I start back at school tomorrow for meetings and preparation for the year. I have a sick feeling in the bits of my stomach where icky things collect, like lint and cat hair in the corners of my house. Really, it’s more about knowing how busy the next ten months are going to be and less about reluctance to work. I quite like my job, but thinking about work after summer holidays is painful.
Getting a taste of “normal” life, going out on weeknights and passing entire weekends without facing a stack of papers at my kitchen table, is sometimes too much for my teacher brain to handle. There are definitely days when I dream of having a regular 40ish hours a week job that stays at work. Today, those dreams are pretty robust.
My brain has been scattered in the lineup of tasks needing to be done before I walk through those doors tomorrow, keys around my neck and snazzy new lunchbag in hand. Since I really can’t collect my self enough right now to write a cohesive post, I’m going to share several of the weird things that have popped into my mind over the last few days while work breathed down my neck.
Random thought while shopping for back to school clothes: Why do most mannequins at shopping malls have obvious nipples? Seriously, those puppies poke through pretty much anything the folks who work in those stores try to hide them behind. Mannequins generally don’t represent real people very well, but why on earth is it necessary to have their girls perpetually at attention? My secret theory is that they cut their way out of the display windows and have dance parties with mannequins from other stores once the mall is shut down.
Random thought while dropping cans of old paint and ancient curtain rods at the Eco Station: How well ventilated is this place? When I was there, eight or nine vehicles were inside, idling, while folks unloaded their old oil, house paint, and computers from 1996 for reclamation and recycling. For the record, my SUV was outside, not running, by the scrap metal bin, since the man in the orange vest advised me to just park and carry my stuff in rather than waiting in the big line to get inside. I worried about the people who were working in the Eco Station, many college students from the look of them, and wondered if the the vehicle exhaust affected their health.
Random thought driving away from the Eco Station: when the hell did I start being “ma’am?” The man in the orange vest called me “ma’am,” when for years and years, men dressed thusly addressed me as “sweetheart,” or “honey,” and I didn’t find it creepy. Heck, I’d even take a “miss” at this point. Perhaps that man in the orange vest recently finished sensitivity training at work, led by an ancient, traditional lady from the deep south, where “ma’am” is not offensive. Guess what? No woman under 60 should ever by “ma’ammed.” I think I get a grey hair every time someone uses that term to refer to me.
Random thought while adjusting the strap for my snazzy, hot pink, new swimming goggles. Can I test these bad boys out? Would I get a better sense of how watertight they are in the shower or the tub? I bet I can find these if they sink to the bottom of the pool: score! This conversation with myself occurred on my couch at 10:30 last night. Please note that Leroy was frightened of my pink goggles, but Sherman was merely confused that I would watch Antiques Roadshow wearing the darn things.
Random thought while swimming this morning: I am the youngest person in this pool by at least 35 years. Although I retracted my prior belief that lane swimming is for blue hairs, the folks who were splashing back and forth across the pool with me were coincidentally all retirement home age. Some were so old that it was impressive to see them out and about; go granny, go! I’m not trying to be insulting to the elderly, but I think too many people reach an age where they stay at home to see The Price is Right rather than being active and healthy. Note: I skipped that game show this morning to hit the lanes. I think most of the hardcore, time trials swimmers, the ones who keep their armpits shaved to trim their lap times and have tattoos of sailfish, swim in the early mornings when all eight lanes are open, rather than the pathetic two lane situation I faced at 10:15 a.m. today. I am not hardcore. I have no desire to be in the pool when it opens at 5:30, so I guess I’ll continue to swim with the grannies.
Random thought right now: should I be a productive adult, or go have a glorious, luxurious weekday afternoon nap? I know I should wash some dishes, put on some laundry, and get ready for my big day tomorrow, but the though of curling up with a book until my eyes get heavy is incredibly tempting.
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