Flush and Move On

All this hurrying will be over soon and my life will unravel like a roll of toilet paper and a curious cat. I’ll puddle on the bathroom floor in generous heaps, useless for the rest of the summer, rueing the unachievable shape of a cardboard cylinder. It’s not about all the ‘crap’ I have to clean up before the final bell, the checklists, evaluations, and papers, it’s about freedom, which is here, but not yet. I never know if this is the beginning or the end of a great adventure? Depends on how you roll it out. Okay, okay, I’ll stop. No need to clog the system with unnecessary rhetoric, it’s time to flush, and move on.

I have this obnoxious internal clock and I know it’s time for summer when I stand in front of a mirror and suddenly look like the photo on my driver’s license. What the hell? Or when a student talks to me in the hall for five minutes about her project, I walk away and have no idea who she is, or what she is talking about. Flush and move on.

I was going to lose twenty pounds, work on my novel, shift to google classroom, read Teach Like a Pirate, take out that hideous desk at the lake house, and figure out how to optimize my SEO’s before the end of the school year. That didn’t happen. I blame salt. Like I said, flush, and move on.

Yes, there are new novels to explore, wineries to join, marshmallows to roast, blogs to write, and endless cups of coffee to consume. I lean in to summer like Sheryl Sandberg leans in to work. I’m a little worried I’ll become so accustomed to leisure my mind will atrophy, and I won’t remember how to teach, but I’m willing to risk it. By the time August rolls around I’ll be begging for more bells and whistles.

I’ll have to stock up on toothpicks and styrofoam cups because appetizers and slushies dominate the summer menu. We have new lakeside neighbors to indoctrinate, a ribbon-cutting ceremony, and endless swirls at Richmond Grill. You’ll be happy to know I’m taking an on-line writing course in June. I’m hoping to define my niche? This should be interesting. I was considering the triumphs of middle-age, then Debra Oswald comes along and says “every person’s life has rolled some distance downhill, even if it was a very gentle slope, coming to rest at a place of disappointment.” This would be a good time to flush and move on.

I’m thinking about ordering a musical recliner for the lake house. It was advertised on late-night TV. It has blue teeth. I’m not sure but I believe I can listen to music, while talking to my mom, and enjoying a massage. Private message me, I’m sure my discount code is still valid. I’m also trying to decide what my summer workout will include, everyone says swimming is good for you, but my chair comes with an exercise app, it’s all good.

Today I was picking up a few things at the grocery store for my mom when I noticed half the things in my cart say “for fast relief.” I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think I’ll grab her a few extra rolls. Slapping my sunglasses on at checkout, I pull out my recyclable, environmentally safe bags, and the clerk says to me, “you need help.” It’s really not good to laugh that hard at my age. I know, I know, flush and move on.