I have these very odd non-custodial weekends, in which I get to pretend that the last 5 years happened to someone else and I’ve always been a responsibility-free adult. And how do I spend these days? Sleeping late, buying really awesome ingredients from the Brickworks, drinking good wine, knitting, kissing, reading aloud from “Dirty Sugar Cookies” and reading silently from a book examining the social phenomenon of the Simpsons. Yeah, I helped Mason blanch and put up a flat of tomatoes, but in terms of productiveness I was all the way back to a week ago, when my vacation seemed endless.
I’m paying some sort of karmic price today though. Listless, queasy and sore, I barely managed to clean my bathrooms and sort through some of the mad tangle inhabiting my front room before giving up to the siren song of my couch and “The Stone Gods”. It’s sort of disappointing. Tomorrow I’ll be out and about with the entire Grade 9 class, and I can’t imagine that I’ll come home wanting to tidy up anything else, let alone make fresh cornbread to go with the chili that was the partial result of those tomato flats. Or go out and dance my ass off to make up for the many times I’ve punked out on troupe practice. But it seems that I promised to do at least two of those things, so I’d better put on my big girl apron/coin belt and deal with it.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*