This week is winter break. I have a week free from teaching; a week of daytime flexibility (save for a few days I have to go onto campus for meetings). Additionally, I’ve somehow made it so that I am all caught up on reading/grading.
So, what will I do with myself? I wonder.
I need to write. I’ve got a notebook with about 4 poems that need attention. I’ve got 2 ideas for research projects that I should get a-moving on with. There’s a sweet potato brownie recipe that I should experiment with. And I’ve got an idea in my head for a song that I should record.
I need to clean. I would just like to say: I used to be able to keep my shit together at the house. My natural state of being-at-home involved mindlessly picking up and sweeping, moving loads of laundry along, wiping down the baseboards in the bathroom as I sat on the toilet. (Yes, not a joke.) Somehow, though, in the last years, this whole way of being has left me. I get home and I wander. I look at, and see, the sand and pine needles and cat hair piling in the corners. I witness the crumby evidence of children eating at the computer desk (prohibited). I stare blankly at the stove top, greasy with yesterday’s bacon-based meal.
The cupboards are spotty.
The tile grout is grey.
The windows are smeared with kitty nose prints and the oil of people’s foreheads.
The carpet is beyond vacuuming; it needs to be replaced, but I could AT LEAST vacuum it.
Break. Huh. I think I’ll just spend a few hours at the box every day instead.