Monday, October 17, 2016

Pity party for one

This last week has been a doozy at my house, and I have kept my chin up and managed to swallow any anxiety I might have felt.  But today, it all came crashing down on me, and I just needed a pity party.  I decided to write down my feelings so I can acknowledge them and move on.  Here it goes.

I remember my elation when I saw the seven-day difference between completing Ethics & Social Responsibility and Literary Theory.  Could it be?  A week off?  I haven’t had one of those since last Christmas.  Brimming with excitement, I sat at the kitchen table and made a list of things to do with all of my free time.

_Finish sewing Halloween costumes for my two children (ages 3 and 5)
_Reorganize the storage room and find Halloween decorations
_Help set up and take down PTA fundraising carnival
_Mow the lawn one last time before the grass goes into hibernation
_Winterize flowerbeds and vegetable garden
_Write one blog entry
_Write short talk for Relief Society meeting
_Plan Relief Society lesson for Sunday
_Wash windows
_Binge-watch Chuck on Netflix
_Take a nap every day to fight off bronchitis and a double ear infection (Eww.)
_Run a steaming hot bath to clear out sinuses
_Cook dinner every night (preferably soup)

Sadly, the weekend before my seven-day sabbatical, my water heater burst and flooded the basement and garage.  Instead of relaxing, healing, and catching up on housework, I spent the week on the phone with the insurance company, home warranty people, plumbers, cleanup guys, and my husband.  I watched my beautiful laundry room and hallway get ripped apart while large fans whirred all day and all night for over a week to salvage as much drywall and flooring as we could.  It felt like I was living in a wind tunnel, and missed the sound of silence.  The industrial dehumidifiers sucked every bit of moisture from our already dry Utah air, which seemed to exacerbate my incessant coughing.  Since we were short a water heater, a steamy bath or shower was not an option for relief.  Dishes piled up in the sink before I caved and boiled pots of water for handwashing in a sacred moment of connection with my pioneer ancestors.  I watched every hamper fill up and spill out onto the floor as I avoided the laundromat.  One by one, I gave up on my to-do list to manage the soggy situation downstairs.  So much for a week off.

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