I want to go camping.
I want to sleep in until whenever and be cozy in my bed because it’s nice and warm and fluffy while the house is just a tad too cool.
I want to go hiking and cliff diving at hat rock.
I want to go to the falls for a picnic.
I want to catch a matinee because there’s not much else to do.
I want to take the kids and spend the afternoon at the library.
I want to sit and read or do crossword puzzles while sipping my morning coffee because I can have a slow start in the morning.
I want to have a conversation that allows me to express a complete thought all the way through before being derailed or becoming disjointed.
I want to be able to say to the kids, “What do you want to do today?”
I want friends to be able to come over to play anytime because we don’t have pressing business to attend to.
But I won’t do any of that.
I’ll just keep rushing out of the house every morning to work and coming home to be a slave-driver and painting and building and sorting and packing and cleaning and directing and sweating in my too-hot house and attempting to provide my 10-year-old with jobs and entertainment while mis-communicating and under-communicating and listening to I want this ($$) and we need to that ($$) and oh by the way this other thing ($$$$) and taking a lot of deep breaths and counting to ten (or twenty or thirty) to avoid saying things I’ll regret and figuring out what to feed the family and attempting to retain control of the finances so bills keep getting paid and we can still buy food and sleeping fitfully because of the heat and stress and waking up and doing it all again the next day.
Happy summer vacay to me.
There, that’s better. Back to work.