Weekend Journal

All work and no play…

I've worked really hard in the past few years. I've got five new classes all polished and shiny. I've presented at conferences and published. I've blogged quite a bit.  All with minimal to zero childcare. And how have I done all this? By eating crap, not sleeping, and working all weekend.

And I'm just not doing it anymore. I'm on strike.

Now that I'm on the dark side of 40, latent hypocondria has emerged and I'm quite certain that I'm about to drop dead. All the years in grad school that I existed on egg sandwiches, coffee, and smokes are all acatchin' up and I'm gonna die. So, I've been power eating blueberries to ward off the cancer and taking deep breathes to see if all my avioli are working. 

Even when I push back the hypocondria to somewhat normal levels, I am completely determined to not work all the time. Partially, because when I sit in front of the computer for days working on the paper, I really end up pooping away half that time surfing gossip websites and playing solitaire and then staying up the night before it is due in a mad panic. My new plan is to enjoy life and not bother sitting down to do the paper until the last minute. 

I'm also not going to work all the time, because I'm burnt out. I'm at that stage when I start envying sales people. When I was working on my dissertation, I really wanted a job in Duane Reade stocking cold medicines. Right now, my fantasy is working at Pottery Barn. I want to artifully arrange knick-knacks. I do. Not kidding.

So, as part of my enjoy-life/not-die-of-cancer-or-a-horrible-fungus philosophy, I did very little work this weekend. We invited over family and friends on Friday night for pizza, had a cousins sleepover, watched Ian at his swim lesson, said yes when people invited us over to watch the football game, made healthy food, and actually listened to the sermon at church.

There was a guest priest at church today. He was heading a mission in the Caribbean and was making a pitch for money. He explained that a $100 could feed a family of four for a year. I was paying attention to what he had to say, but I kept getting distracted by how gay he was. He had a shaved head and a handlebar mustache. He was the lost member of the Village People. How can a religion with so many gay clergymen have a problem with gay marriage and homosexuality?  I just don't get it.

I've got two deadlines in the next two weeks and I'm going to plug away at them, but not panic. I'm going to the gym and making my own pasta sauce. And if all else fails, I'm to submit my application for my dream job at Pottery Barn.