7 February 2001
Last year: And I got to swipe some Bath and Body Works shampoo from the hotel.
For whatever reason, I'm very tired this morning. I wasn't tired until just now, actually. I only hit the snooze bar once this morning (though that had as much to do with the cat anxiously hovering over me as with my relative level of restedness). I got up, fed the cat, made my lunch (well, took it out of the freezer and put it in a bag with some fruit - gosh, I love the convenience of frozen meals), took a shower, got dressed, combed my hair, put the slip I bought yesterday that doesn't fit (I really should look at the size tag on the actual clothes instead of the hanger - you'd think I'd learn) into a bag with the receipt so I can exchange it this afternoon, took the trash and recycle bins out to the curb, brought in the paper, gathered my things together, and came to work.
Now I'm sitting at my desk feeling more than slightly lethargic. All I want to do is put my head down and take a nap, like in elementary school. You remember that? Sitting in those desks, your head down on your arms, thinking, This is stupid. I can't sleep like this. Why do they make us do this? Every so often, if you were bold, you'd turn your head just enough to look at your friend across the aisle, and if you were lucky, they'd be looking at the same time. One of you would make a funny face, or maybe try to mouth some essential gossip that couldn't wait until recess or the end of class. Sooner or later, the teacher would notice and snap both of your names out loud: "Carol! Kristin!" - causing a sort of wave of rustling titters to roll across the room as your classmates realized they hadn't been caught.
I had an extremely clever teacher once who instead of speaking names would just say, "I saw that!" or "Stop that this instant!" Every time she did, I'm sure half a dozen or more heads would snap back to "resting" position.
Of course, those were only "rest" periods for a couple of grades. From about the third grade on, you only put your head on your arms in order to take votes or as a punishment if the class was behaving particularly badly.
But oh, what wouldn't I give right now for someone to walk by my office just now, frown, and say, "I've had just about enough of your interruptions, missy. Put your head down until you think you can be quiet."
Isn't it just a little weird, the things we hate as kids but love as adults?
I can remember screaming arguments with my parents about whether I was tired enough to take a nap. Little did I know that they didn't really care whether I was tired or not - they just wanted to be able to take naps of their own. (I remember being about ten when I first heard about "quiet time" - which I still think is a fantastic compromise.)
Squash. I had squash casserole for dinner last night. I hated squash as a kid. Mostly because - and this is the way logic worked for me when I was a kid - the word "squash" was very similar to "squish." I knew that couldn't be a coincidence, and I didn't want to eat squishy vegetables. Then one day, I was at a farmer's market buying tomatoes and I looked at the bin of squash and thought, A little squash, stir-fried with some onion and carrot... Yum. And that was that.
And I'm learning to eat shrimp again, a bit... Maybe one day I'll even understand the appeal of brussels sprouts.
Word of the Day:
infantalize - to make, keep, or treat as if infantile
Currently Reading:
- Merlin by Stephen Lawhead
- The Macintosh Bible by Sharon Aker
Current Projects:
- Kris' afghan
- placemats