This whole summers-off thing is fairly grand, I recognize, but you'll forgive me if it's also taken me a few days to get into the rhythm of not working. For posterity's sake, I figured I'd record what I've done in the last few days, mostly so that when it's January, and the good snow-removal folks of GRR are again ignoring our street, and the students look like gray-faced zombies, and I am dipping Fritos Scoops into Funfetti frosting and calling it "dinner," I can reread this post and build a time machine and go back to this date and PUNCH ME IN THE FACE for ever complaining about not having anything to do. Which, incidentally, is probably what those of you reading this at work would like to do right about now.
You'd think that last sentence demonstrates sufficient self-awareness, but nope! I'm still posting the list!
*took the dog up to the dog beach at Muskegon; watched him roll face-first in the sand in an attempt to get sand out of his nose and eyes; forgot sunscreen; ordered shakes from Mr. Quick for the ride home*;
*pitted two pounds of Smichigan cherries by hand; freestyled a cobbler; continued on baking high and made banana bread with macademias and dark chocolate chips**;
*went to the library, the grocery store, and on a few [shitty] runs;
*drank a whole bottle of wine with the B and made fun of the people that Bobby Flay trounces on Throwdown;
*complained loudly to no one that GG was not on at its regularly scheduled time;
*caught up on e-mails, which I composed aloud as I typed, for reasons still unclear to me;
*mopped the kitchen floor while wearing an apron; see also, Hello, 1957;
*made my ferry reservation for the week in Green Bay;
*dug around in the scary basement, scored a charcoal grill, and decided to celebrate with a cookout: Montreal burgers on crusty baguettes with grilled red onions, corn on the cob, sweet potato fries, salad, and cherry cobbler;
*worried the fragment "murderous hands"*** all day like the upper left wisdom tooth I feel coming in but ignore because, yeah, dental insurance and me, not so much;
*waved hello to the girl who moved into my old apartment and then said a silent thank-you that I currently live on the first floor, which is twenty degrees cooler;
*made the B take me out to dinner at a chain restaurant, just to remember what it was like to wait tables in the summer****;
*wrote a poem for the first time in two months;
*typed most of this post while balancing the laptop on my recumbent torso, narrowly avoiding second-degree crotch burns and sort-of guessing where certain keys would be located.
Dear January 2010 self: commence punching.
*last year, when I discovered the dog beach, I was also cajoled by a visiting friend to stop at Mr. Quick. Now the rule is that every time you come back from the beach, you stop in. Don't feel like a chili dog, you say? TOO BAD. IT'S THE RULE.
**but it uses applesauce in place of [most of] the butter, so it is clearly heath food
***so let's all act surprised when I write a poem titled "Murderous Hands," and/or have to charge exorbitant emergency dental surgery to my Visa in November
***this was sort of nostalgic, but not nearly as much as I thought it would be. Time, she's a-passing
If you write a poem about murderous hands, you have to throw in an allusion to Macbeth. I suggest a play on the line "tommorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow."
ReplyDeleteI want a chili dog.
Also, I have little to do. Well, I have a lot to do, but I'm not doing it. So when I have 90 9th grade papers sitting on my desk and I'm crying, I'm going to read this post, too. Hell, maybe I'll write my own. Or just look at pictures of myself with fake pink balloon testes.
Those burgers sounded amazing--we will make them when you come.
We are going to eat so much food, it will be redunk. And it will be so redunk, we won't even feel bad about calling it redunk, because that will be the only possible word for it.
ReplyDelete