You might be wondering why--in the face of inordinate amounts of time thanks to summer vacation--I'm putting up less blog posts than I was before. And the reason is the same as why I can't seem to fold laundry or clean my house without the threat of a visitor. I simply do not have the motivation. I can't seem to get my shit together these days.
I have done a lot of reading these past two weeks. Ridiculous amounts of reading. Like, you know that kid that was in your class in elementary school that would bring a new book to school every few days, sneaking reads when the teacher wasn't looking? This summer has brought out that kind of reader in me. So far, I've read something upwards of twenty books, mostly fiction, mostly from the library. I've stopped midway through a few books I wasn't terribly impressed with, and I've returned a few I just didn't really want to read. But all in all, I've read and read and read. It's the only thing I consistently want to do.
While reading can take me to far away, wonderful places, it leaves much to be desired in the way of content for blog posting. I currently have two or three unpublished drafts of posts that I've written over the last two weeks or so that just didn't come together. They're about books and age and loss and whatever else, and they're fragmented and purposeless. You do not want to wander their aimless tracks of thoughts.
I don't really know how full-time writers do it. I mean, if all I do is write all day, what do I have to write about? The fact that I ate half a watermelon in one sitting the other week while watching Netflix because it was just so delicious that I couldn't stop myself? My recent battle with a new pillow that hasn't yet been broken in? The weather? There must be something else.
Trying to write during the summer gives me a huge appreciation for people who work from home and/or create their own work schedules. Often, I have to force myself to walk outside or do something as soon as I wake up or else I'll spend the whole day on the couch with a book or a remote. Often, I forget what day it is. Often, I'll eat half a pound of chocolate chips or a whole bag of Skinny Pop mindlessly in one sitting. It's not the most inspiring thing you've ever seen.
When I complain about my days of nothing, I usually get a lot of bitter responses from the good people that work year-round. Gosh, I wish I had nothing to do all day! they say. But you don't really want to sit around all day for two months. Trust me. It'll make anyone crazy. You just want the option, and I can't blame you. The option is nice.
But the plenitude of nothingness is making me a little crazy these days. With no trips out of town planned this month, and no escapades to far-off lands this year, I've been feeling a little trapped in the city. My wanderlust is rearing its ugly head, and I won't see another paycheck until the end of August. I can't afford to fly somewhere exotic or exciting and get away, and my car doesn't even have reliable AC.
These are the days I wish I didn't owe the bank hundreds of thousands of dollars.
These are the days I wish teachers made more money.
I told B about it the other evening as we were texting.
B: I've got a break tomorrow between 10am and 5pm, I think.
Me: I've got nothing until 7:30pm...which means that I'm going stir crazy, but I'll tell you about that tomorrow when I see you.
B: What's wrong?
Me: Well, I'm at a point where I'm doing pretty much nothing all day and it's making me restless. It happens every summer, and yet I still don't plan something. I think, "Eh, it won't be that bad." And then it is bad, and I drive to Canada.
I told him about the trips I have planned for July--going to a training in central Louisiana, seeing family in Alabama and Georgia, seeing friends in Tennessee, staying at the beach with the 'rents. And the nothingness that envelopes the next few weeks.
B: Those sound like some good trips. Let's talk tomorrow and think about some stuff maybe we can do in the next three weeks.
Have I mentioned recently how great B is? I don't know how he did it, but I went from crawling in my own skin to settled in just a few short text messages.
We haven't planned any trips together yet, despite the conversation. There are complications--expensive flights to the places we want to go and commitments here in New Orleans. He's got work. I've got volleyball. We're both short on cash. Chances are that we won't end up going anywhere far away, and we may not even get away at all this summer. You know what, though? For some reason, I feel okay about it now. Maybe the restlessness just needed to be acknowledged. Maybe it was enough to just dream about going somewhere, to look for flights, to think about hiking in the Rockies in sub-90 degree weather.
Nonetheless, I might just skip town later this week to go see one of my favorite aunt/uncle pairs in Alabama. I miss their recently-sold mountain home in Georgia, but I'm excited they're closer, and that I'll get to see the new place near the coast. Most of all, I'm excited to see them. Because nothing heals a restless heart like an uncle interrogating you about your new boyfriend over a (probably gross) kale smoothie.
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