Between work, school, trying to maintain a semblance of what might look like a social life, and forging ahead with trying to become the writer that I know I should be, my life feels very full right now.Saturday’s have become my “Me” day, partly because my wife is away at work and the other two people who live in my home have recognized that hiding in their rooms or getting out of the house is the best way to avoid being caught in ‘the trap of having a conversation with me.’*
So, on Saturday’s I tend to be able to sleep in later than normal, which throws my morning routine into a bit of flux, but nothing that I haven’t compensated for over the course of time. As I really don’t want to travel unless I have too, tea becomes the caffeine vehicle of choice (something with cinnamon in it normally), and I forego my morning cup of Dunkin’ coffee. I meander around the house for a bit, usually picking some area and cleaning it for a bit (these tend to be my areas, as I truly despise cleaning up after full grown adults who are more than capable of cleaning after themselves) before settling down with my Tigger mug of tea (hrm, I think I shall adopt that as the new name of my mug.. yes, this works nicely) and cracking open one of the two HUMONGOUS books I have to read for class (seriously, one class has three books with over a thousand pages, the other class… well the book weighs like 8 pounds and is well over 4 inches thick…).
Yeah, I may be brilliant (highly speculative and debatable, I’m sure), but signing up for an American Literature class and ENC 1102 (that’s the second year English class for those not in the know of the nomenclature) was not the smartest thing in the world for someone who reads slow. Yep, that’s right, I admit it. I read slow. I even go so far as to read each word out loud in my head… which isn’t out loud, I understand, but… how else do you describe it?
Anyway, I settle into my couch, behemoth book in hand, find my reading assignments and just zone out. Forty-five minutes later, I emerge from the fog that I have been in, realizing I don’t remember anything of what I just read and wonder…”What was I thinking. Going back to college at my age.” and finally come to the normal response I have adopted. “Idiot.”
Sometimes I have to leave the house to drop someone off. Sometimes I chose to leave the house because… well, a change of scenery is always nice. Sometimes I leave just because I really need to indulge my gluttonous habits of unhealthy food desire and since the wife isn’t home, I can do so and I make my way to Panera Bread Company and get a salad with black bean soup with an unsweet tea. Total rebel. Oh, and a dessert. Yeah, got to get that pastry… it really is the only reason to go there.
There might be a few more stops, one that just might include a walk through of my local Best Buy, where I am sure to engage in a long drawn out conversation with one of the employees (who has become a good friend over the years of my patronage there) who for the life of me I don’t understand why he doesn’t get in trouble (or run) every time I walk into the store.
Eventually, it’s back home. If I have not finished my reading or homework by this point, I try to bang it out, hoping that I at least partially make sense of the point I am trying to make (much like how I feel when I hit the ‘publish’ button here) and then make my way into my office (or as my wife calls it, “The new NASA mission control”) where I fire up my gaming systems and try to find something to entertain me and take my mind off of the potential failing grade I may receive for the drivel that I dared to submit.
This last Saturday, after having a fairly accurate recreation of the previously explained day, I found myself in a game of Battlefield 4 (one of my favorite games and franchises), where I shot a pilot out of a helicopter, watched the helicopter fall softly to the ground, jumped into the pilot seat and proceeded to rain holy havoc down upon the enemy in a torrent of helo produced bullets… all while humming “Flight of the Valkyrie”.
And all was right in the world.
*the trap is that I tend to dig for some way to make the person cry or spill their guts, resulting in crying, about deeply personal things that they tend not to want to talk about or work on at the moment. What can I say, it’s a gift.