Playin' Hooky

OK...so no one actually told me I had to do any of the things I'm not doing...but you know how sometimes, there's that voice in the back of your head, that sounds amazingly like your mother, or your 7th grade Math teacher? The one that gives you "the look" and says "Well, I suppose you don't have to do your homework/clean your room, but, remember, when you want to go out and have fun with your friends, and then you get a bad grade/can't find your special shirt, you'll be the only one to blame." Yeah, that one...well, it is ringing loudly in my head...and I am sitting here blowing raspberries at it. Pppppbbbtttthhhhh!!!!!!

I have a list of things I should be doing, but have opted instead to sit here, in front of my television, logged in (thank the heavens above for wireless networks!), watching mindless shows, checking email, surfing the almighty interweb, and dreaming of days on a beach, listening to the waves, feeling a gentle tropical breeze on my face, calling for the cabana boy to bring me more margaritas...ahhhhhhhh...

I know, that while I am dreaming of being total without responsibility, that there are 35 pounds of apples waiting to be made into applesauce, at least 40 pounds of acorn squash to be stashed in my basement throughout the winter and enjoyed on icky days, baked with butter and brown sugar, or perhaps, for a special treat, cut open, cleaned out, with a Snickers bar in the middle...there are also about 4 loads of laundry that are waiting for me in the hampers upstairs...there are shirts to iron for BB...but for right now, in this moment, I'm playing hooky.

Back in the day, that would have meant ditching my "free period" that was in between French and English Lit, but required me to be on campus (really, why call it "free" if it was nothing more than a glorified Study Hall?), and head to our Village Inn (no Denny's, Waffle Houses or the like 14 years ago...), where I would drink crappy coffee, and expound what I thought were amazingly profound and deep thoughts about life, cinema, art, and my unfortunate classmates that were more apt to head to a house and drink beer illegally on the weekends than to go to a museum or concert. Sometimes, when we were feeling really reckless, we'd head into the People's Republic (those who live here know what I'm talking about) and wander the open-air street mall, ducking into the record store to look for great CDs, wander into the custom jewelry store that used to have affordable pieces by local artists, and, being extremely rebellious, we'd hit the Banana Republic, wishing we could afford to buy the cool shirts and pants that were on the mannequins there...oh, the extent of our teen angst...

Today, however, it means I'm selfishly taking the time while the kids are asleep and listening to my big galoot of a Rocco-dog snore, the cats are curled up on the other end of the couch sleeping all wrapped up in each other, and the furnace is running. The mantle clock is ticking, but otherwise the house is silent.

I may just curl up under a blanket and snooze for an hour or so...hmmmmmmmm