I’m tired of rushing.
I like being busy, but I’m the kind of person that needs to recharge every once in a while.
I’ve just had a brainwave (brilliant ole me), and I would be more correct in saying that I’m the sort of person that needs roots.
If this seems like a strange statement from someone who has never lived outside California, I assure you I understand the absurdity, and then I assure you that you must let me finish.
During the Weekdays, I am a full-time graduate student, English and SAT tutor, dutiful daughter, amateur writer and blogger. I go from housekeeping duties to hopping on BART to attend 3 hour classes to hop back onto BART to make it home in time for my tutoring session and to help with dinner. I can’t remember the last time I slept before 3 am, and I am so bloody tired because what little weekend time I do have I like to save for my boyfriend, so I try to get as much work done during the week as I can.
Now, I hear you say, the weekend is practically three whole days! Are you saying you haven’t got time for all that and your boyfriend? Che! Time management!
To which I say, fuck you, I work on weekends and have only a few measly hours to spend with him Fridays and Saturday nights. Then, because he has a big social circle, it always seems to be somebody’s birthday/going away party/celebration of one kind or another, and then before you know it I’m charging my boyfriend’s phone for him and I’m driving back home at 3 am.
Sundays! you exclaim. Sundays you have no excuse!
Which is wholly true. I have nothing definite planned on Sundays, but I try to get a run in (I get little enough exercise during the week – my ass will soon be permanently in the shape of an uncomfortable computer chair) during the mornings when they have pick-up basketball games, and then it’s a mad dash through the shower, through my house packing up anything that I might need for a Sunday afternoon, because god forbid if anyone’s made any sort of concrete plans so it’s best to bring clothes to change into in case we picnic in Dolores or go to a nice restaurant or go to a late movie, don’t forget dear to always pack your glasses because your eyes can’t last with contacts anymore, and bring the laptop and books and notebooks and pens because there’s always the possibility there will be enough down time to get some work done, never mind that even if there is, you never see a shred of productivity in that house because there is always something more fun going on.
I’ve barely been home all weekend, I see my family only in passing, and I miss my dog. You have no idea the sort of guilty feelings one comes across when you are only at home at an hour to wake up your puppy from his sleep and bring him to your room and tuck him into your bed before falling asleep yourself. And then you wake up and abandon him, backing out of the garage with his puppy breath fogging up the living room window, already awaiting your return with a love and a loyalty you have yet to experience from any other living, breathing creature, never mind that during the week you can’t pay attention to him because of work, and that during the weekend, you can’t pay attention to him because of your social life.
A great, big, girl like you, Alice, crying? For shame.