Spring Fever

Sunday, March 21, 2010
This will be the last of my vacation post, promise...for awhile...
The road home on day two was a little...

It started snowing about an hour into the drive, and didn't stop until...well, I'll let you know when it stops snowing here....5+ inches and counting at my house.
Day two of spring looks a little different this year. I should also note that the only thing I packed for my beach vacation were spring skirts, dresses, shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops. It made for an interesting drive today. ;o)

I don't think school is going to be called off tomorrow, and despite my lack of appropriate dress, I don't think I can catch a bad enough cold to miss work by tomorrow...
I TRY not to dread work (look, we aren't supposed to like it all the time, I've read Genesis, I get it), but I have a terrible, horrible, awful, stinky case of spring fever right now. I need a doctor's note because I don't know if I'm gonna make it...
I was driving home from my vacation and thinking of all the reasons I didn't want to go to work on Monday. I have a large bruise across my shin from a little mishap on the boat, and I was wondering if that was enough justification to miss a day or four of work? I got a (rare, but painful) migraine on Friday night, and I was wondering if I could justify three days for recovery...it really hurt?! Saturday, I had macaroni for lunch, and it made me feel really full, and I was trying to think what 'code' I'd punch into the sub system for being 'too full...' And then I thought of the poem called 'Sick' by Shel Silverstein because I realized that perhaps my reasons were not very legitimate, or clever....and I began writing my own version in my head so I'd feel better about...well...nothing, oh and I also had 17 hours to kill in a car over two days. Now I just feel worse because I didn't come up with one reason I think will fly for another day off work. Here is Shel's poem: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16480
Please do not examine it too closely b/c you will see I followed few of his patterns, rhythms, and rules. In fact, for future reference, don't examine anything too closely that I blog about, including my 'Spring Fever'/I don't wanna work today poem. Excuse me while I go contact Hallmark and see if they want me to write greeting cards or something. And now....what I did for at least a solid 12 minutes on my drive home-think poetry in my head. It went something like this...give or take an illness or two.
"I cannot go to work today,"
Said bitter Christy Ann, Monday,
"I have a bruise on my right shin,
Laundry, dust, and a full trash bin.
My hair is frizzy, my mascara's old.
I returned home, and it's way too cold
My teeth aren't white,
And now my cars a muddy sight.
The sunburn throbs upon my feet,
My Iphone detox is incomplete
My tan is uneven, my eyes are still brown--
Did I mention I've been out of town?
I think I'm out of Diet Coke,
My bank account states that I'm broke--
Donovan needs to select his pony,
My belly's full of macaroni,
I suffered Friday from a Migraine,
I'm sure the scale will say I've gained.
My telephone battery is quickly dying,
I have ribbons (for next week's shower) that need tying.
My toe nail polish is chipping away,
I need to teach my dogs how to speak, fetch, and stay.
I have a new freckle, and my skin is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say this job is the only way I can collect my pay?
Okay, I guess I'll head to work Monday."
I wonder if I make enough of you read this if you'll be willing to chip in for a plane ticket next time so I don't have quite so much travel time for these poetry pursuits?
And on an end note. The photos I've uploaded (minus any people shots, those are on a different camera, and someday I'll get to those...maybe after this upcoming shower) are here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=153504&id=725172809&l=37a8dc06b0
...because I know the 18 blog entries, and 8,976 pictures I posted aren't enough.

1 comment

Charles and Heidi said...

Definitely add that to your list.. poetess!
You made Dr. Seuss very proud!