It also turns out that it's downright difficult to turn in assignments for some people. The adult kind of people, that is.
(Yes, I know that my students have things like jobs and kids to distract them from school.)
(Yes, I wished my class took precedence over everything.)
(Yes, I'll give the extension. I'm not totally inhuman. I just think grumpy thoughts as I cheerfully smile when you tell me that you couldn't find even one minute in your week to turn in one assignment.)
So it turns out that my 30s have been quite the enlightening decade for me thus far. I've had some AHA moments.
1. It was just within the past couple of years as I was waxing poetic (ba-dum-ching) about Sylvia Plath that I realized that "Sticking your head in the oven" is not a gruesome burn-your-face-off kind of suicide as I guess I always thought but a turn-on-the-gas-and-go-to-sleep kind of suicide. I grew up with an electric oven in the house. This never occurred to me before.
2. I don't like weekends all that much.
3. I don't like Halloween at all.
4. I'm not even a fan of Christmas.
5. I'm obviously a cyborg.
That's right, folks. I'm not normal.
We were over at ye-olde-in-laws' house to celebrate my father-in-law's 60th birthday when my mother-in-law kind of sighed and said something to the effect of "I wish the weekend would just last longer." Being the dutiful little conversationalist, I quickly agreed before realizing I'm a downright LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE (gas stove, style, naturally).
I've known for a couple of years now that there's a reason the words "Saturday," "Sunday" and "weekend" don't do a single thing for me. But I've never up and admitted my apparent flaw to anyone else (except the boy, and he's, you know...the boy...so he knows everything already). It's hard to make such scandalous claims aloud in public for one and all to hear and react to.
It's those darn reactions that I just don't want to have to deal with.
MIL: I wish the weekend would just last longer.
ME: Oh, goodness, I don't. Bring on Monday!
MIL: [crickets] I don't understand you, but you're obviously wrong. Or a cyborg.
ME: Well, the truth had to come out some time, didn't it?
It's just like when I have the audacity to make such shocking claims as "I don't want any more children" while holding a snuggly little drooler. Do you know what the reaction is to that little stink-like-a-dirty-diaper bomb? "Oh, yes you do."
Really. Do tell.
Every time, folks.
So you just learn to keep little bits to yourself. But this here blog thing is mostly a one-sided conversation between me and
This is my truth, such as it is. Welcome back, Monday (I missed you).