Holy crap it’s the last day of May. Time whooshes by. I had a contact lens patient tell me the other day that his only complaint while wearing his contact lenses was that air whooshed into his eyes. Sometimes all I can do is just sit there and wait for whatever strange thing is going to be said next. I’m powerless to stop the whooshing of air, or slow down the whooshing of time. And that’s entirely sufficient amounts of the whoosh word for one day.
The weekend and work finally caught up with me last night and I did my mini sleep marathon thing. Ten hours. Only small children are supposed to sleep that long at a stretch. I thought as one aged, less sleep was required. But I could feel myself winding down and fading all yesterday afternoon to the point of LONGING for sleep. What a luxury it is to just come home and go to bed whenever I feel like it, with a husband who thinks left over spaghetti is an excellent meal to eat on one’s own.
The good thing about it being practically June is that hockey will be over soon, and Edmontonians can hiss and boo at either Pronger or Comrie depending on who wins, and get that out of their systems. Personally I’m finding it kind of hard to care. Hockey seriously should end in March.
Another good thing is that Laurie will be back from her European vacation the middle of the month. It will be lovely to have her back, even if it means listening to holiday stories and looking at a thousand scenic pictures, as long as she throws in a few of nudes on Greek beaches. Or Greeks on nude beaches. Or Italians would work for me as well. We miss her terribly! No one ever realizes how much work one person does in a day until you have to pick up the slack. And that makes me very nervous about going away myself, in case there’s no slack to pick up when I’m gone. Some days I feel like I’m just occupying space. Umm, yeah. Complaining Space Occupant. My non official title.
W. leaves again mid-June, back to camp, plus this time for his parents 60th wedding anniversary. I’m not sorry to be missing it, although I AM sorry that I can’t be sorry. I don’t want to be there. Sorry. And I’m very sure not one person there will be sorry that I’m not. Now my head hurts. I’m sorry I started talking about it.
The weekend with the grandchildren was awesome, by the way. I didn’t have my camera, but both D. and K. put the pictures from their cameras on my computer, so prepare yourself for over-doses of cute in the next couple of days when I’m off and not outside enjoying the sunshine. I can stand only short intervals of yard work – about twenty minutes seems to be my max before I go berzerk about the bugs or the dirt. Never mind the whooshing air. That’s a killer. But sitting-at-the-computer marathons are something I’m ridiculously good at.
So, so long to another May. Another month of growing up or growing old. As long as we’re growing something. Even if it’s only more dazed and confused by the rapid passage of time.
Breathing Space 