Spring Break

                                                      April: Spring Break

Sunday, March 30:       Saw Brenda today. Asked about possible excursions during Spring Break. Was told she would like to get together, Shall We Go Shopping? Rather think that my affirmative was a bit too enthusiastic as her reply was only a discreet cough. By way of explanation of enthusiasm, confess that am in dire need of socks (down to last pair without holes) and some shirts, if on sale. Realize that this sounds a tad pathetic, but, given the way Brenda dresses (convinced she buys most of her clothes at discount junior clothing shop), think she may relate.

            Then spend hour reveling in anticipated week of complete relaxation and gratuitous wastage of time. Plan specifics of this, to include shopping, eating, sleeping and petting cat.

            To demonstrate the sheer decadence of the following week to self, decide to do the laundry. Find a t-shirt am willing to make dirty, pair of shorts, don those and then sort all dirty laundry into piles: darks, lights, delicates. After three hours of trekking downstairs to move clothes from one machine to another (and enduring angry looks from one neighbor who evidently also wants to do his laundry), am at last finished. Then, lay out all clean laundry on newly-vacuumed carpet, fold clothes while watching Alice in Wonderland (the cartoon version) and finally all is folded that needs it and all that requires hanging has been properly returned to its closet.

            The one advantage to living alone is that the walk-in closet is all mine. Conveniently, have stool inside closet so that can admire all the beautifully clean hanging and folded clothes, with shoes displayed neatly below on shelves on three sides of closet (fourth is the door). Sigh with satisfaction, not the least of which is caused by knowledge that have only two things in my possession that are dirty: the t-shirt and shorts worn during this Time of Laundry. Another sigh of satisfaction and then decide that have now arrived upon the Moment for an Excursion.

            In preparation for this outing, choose an outfit that has not just emerged from last three hours of attentive care. Unfortunately, as no one is available on such short notice for a spontaneous outing, accompany self to movie. Have never snuck into second movie before, but as am on vacation and alone, decide that now is the Time to Try. Am caught and reprimanded by manager of movie theatre who is sixteen at the oldest and covered in spots.

Monday, March 31:      First official day of holiday. Phone Brenda about shopping and instead am treated to lengthy exposition regarding her cats (who are ailing) and the state of her work (also, evidently, ailing). Suggest, What about shopping, after all when the going gets tough the Tough Go Shopping. She laughs heartily, Oh, Lena, you are soo funny! Nevertheless, she simply must return to ministering both her studies and her cats. She will definitely call me on the morrow.

            Because did not have any other plans today, decide to treat myself to a “home spa” detailed in a woman’s magazine. See that masks for both hair and face are of mostly natural ingredients so mix them all together into a single all-purpose mask. Don’t have mayonnaise, but decide low-fat imitation will do. Combine with yogurt, egg, olive oil and avocadoes. Result is extremely pungent and gooey but am convinced that this is directly proportional to mask’s effectiveness. Cut cucumber to put two slices on eyes while cover face and hair for an impressive imitation of a green monster.

Set timer for half an hour but before time is up, mask begins itching. Wash face and discover that face is irritated. Wonder if this has anything to do with using low-fat, imitation mayonnaise. Wash hair three times to erase last vestiges of mask. Hair still appears limp after vigorous hair-drying. Bumps appear on face and use astringent to clear it up. Instead this makes face red in the utmost and impossible to go out for remainder of day.

            Resolve that it is time to Get Reacquainted with TV, specifically through afternoon reruns of “Gag,” “Fiends,” and “Crossing Boredom,” which results in headache. Am hungry and think that perhaps ingredients in mask would have been better suited for dinner. Instead fix buttermilk pancakes and bacon and feel much restored, in mood, if not in appearance. Snuggle up with book, glass of wine and kitty.

Tuesday, April 1:          Face has fully recovered. Am extremely anxious to embark upon exciting junket, even if this only entails visiting the local department store. Besides, am quite fond of Kmart, especially the Martha Stewart line of kitchen accessories.

Instead of calling Brenda again—don’t want to appear desperate—try to entice Debra. Treated to lengthy disquisition regarding, Isn’t it shameful how Chinese workers are exploited and underpaid to make her products, and How can you patronize a store that supports a government like that? Replied, what about the socio-economic oppression of people of color in our own country, racism in general, and our “just-us” justice system? Debra retorts, That is being intentionally obtuse and conflating issues. Wonder what issue was about, since all I want is some new spatulas, preferably of the translucent green color sold at Kmart. Decide better part of valor is to go alone. When arrive, am bumped and stepped on repeatedly by abundantly proportioned women and her several squealing children in tow. Vow to never speak to Debra again, since this is clearly Her Fault.

            Returned home extremely exhausted, though only three in the afternoon (where has the day gone?) but decide it is too shameful to simply retire at such an early hour. Resolve to have more “fun” so call another, less militant friend to see if she wants to meet at a local bar for some cheap grub.

Was informed that she was far too busy adding finishing touches on paper she is about to submit for publication. In fact, the journal is absolutely dying to get their hands on her paper, lest she entice some other, even more erudite and obscure publication with her work. Asked her how long she has been submitting the thing and was told that she just submitted it two months ago and the journal has been salivating ever since. Decided not to relay how my own paper has been hocked unsuccessfully to numerous publications for the past year.

Ask her what the subject is, and discover that it is on Sex Workers and Self-Immolation in Southeast Asia, specifically on the ramifications of being forced into sexual servitude to culturally colonializing westerners. Wonder aloud if my own paper, on Post-Modernity and Japanese Imperialism might not be “jazzed up” with a little sex thrown in. Wendy tells me she hasn’t any more time to spare, simply must finish this article by tomorrow and rings off.

            Sigh and wish once more that I had not broken up with Chris right before spring break, as then would have a standing date for every night of holiday. Instead, am left with “The Clydesdale Kitty” aka “Fusspot” for company. Not bad, though, since aforesaid fusspot has deigned to occupy my lap for an hour and a half and than meows plaintively that she is hungry. Wonder what it means to be a complete slave to a ten-pound ball of extremely puffy fur. Decide not to delve further into the issue and instead get ready for bed early.

Wednesday, April 2:     Was woken up at six-thirty in the morning by screeching which turned out to be smoke alarm. Evidently, one cannot neglect the batteries for too long (two years, to be specific) because, it seems, this is exactly what happens. After a half an hour of frantically trying to dismantle alarm into ever smaller parts, blaring finally ceases. Immediately receive a phone call from irate neighbor complaining about the noise. Apologize profusely, of no avail, and then sternly inform neighbor that if I am unable to tend further to said device at this moment, alarm will again begin bellowing. With a harrumph, neighbor hangs up and I successfully disembowel entire alarm and discover the location of the battery. Query: Why is the battery always buried under ever more intricate pieces of plastic?

Am then scolded by hungry kitty and in moment of frustration, “Fusspot” comes out “Fussus” which, upon reflection, is much more appropriate name. She now ignores appellation (and me, consequently) when called. Fortunately, since she is smaller than a houseplant, she cannot always exercise free will. After being squeezed, she runs off and hides on top of bookcase.

             Decide then to phone Brenda at 10:30 to ask about shopping excursion, as have not heard a peep from her in three days. No answer. Leave message.

            In desperation, visit the old grouch and he asks again, Why are you getting another degree? Explain once more that am not getting “another” degree, that master’s is acquired along the way to Ph.D. By way of answer, he snuffles. 

I ask, So how have you been? Alright?

He nods and then asks if I am hungry.

Nod vigorously, to which he raises his eyebrow. Make mistake of elaborating that, as yet, have not eaten breakfast. Upon which he delivers lecture on not missing meals—breakfast is the most important!

After that, he asks, Well, so you want to go to lunch?

Tell him that No, I do not want to go to lunch now because have lost my appetite. Suddenly grouch becomes solicitous and so I resort to a lie and say I need to go to school. I thought this was Spring Break, he says, but I tell him I still have some things to take care of.

            Because actually was hungry, decide to treat myself to lunch, replete with a glass of wine. Wonder if boredom is first step towards becoming a lush and decide that I Don’t Care.

Am accosted by a balding, rotund little man from neighboring table of similarly constructed colleagues. He tests the limits of suavity by inquiring whether I am alone in a bantering tone. Say quickly that no, I am not alone, am merely expecting a friend who is going to be late. Just then, food arrives, making it abundantly clear that it is a meal for one. I smile and say, well, she’s going to be really late. Then feel compelled to inhale my food before he summons courage for another visit.

            Walk out with a sensation of being an vigorously stuffed turkey. Cell phone rings and first thing Mon asks is, What’s wrong, you sound tired and Why didn’t you wait for me to come back. Explain first that Dad didn’t mention when you would be back and then about smoke alarm and she says, I knew those electrical appliances were dangerous. Try to explain the smoke alarm is not an electrical “appliance” like a microwave, but she is firm. You really sound tired, she says again, perhaps you need more rest. I agree that, perhaps, I do need more rest. Drive home and immediately cover my head with blankets.

            Saturday, April 5:         Was violently sick last two days after going to friend’s for barbecue. Wasn’t able to sleep until 6:30 the following morning because any movement of the supine variety resulted in re-experiencing dinner. Don’t know why it’s called a “twenty-four hour” illness since it lasted distinctly longer—forty-eight hours, to be exact.

            Receive phone call from Brenda, she says, Sorry, she meant to call earlier.

Before she again launches into copious details about her life, feel compelled to explain own circumstances regarding loss of prior two days, so can we go shopping? She apologizes again and says she already has gone shopping.

But, I protest, you can go again, can’t you? After all, I think, but do not add, she looks as if she shops at a discount junior clothing chain.

She says no, she can’t, she has already spent her allotment for the month.

What did you buy, I wonder.

She says, well, a shirt and a pair of pants.

My thought regarding Brenda’s particularly thrifty lifestyle is confirmed until she adds, the shirt was four-hundred and fifty dollars and the pants were five hundred. I make a choking sound and she asks whether I am still sick, should she call back later.

I say no, am fine, what does she mean she spent almost a thousand dollars on a shirt and a single pair of pants?

She says that she went to Barney’s and there was a Prada top, it’s a yellow ballet top edged with plastic thread. You have to come over and see it. And then maybe we can go out to eat. Besides, I need to have the pants altered—you sew, right?

I say yes, what does she want sewn?

The pants are too long and I don’t want to take them to the tailor. They charge fifteen dollars for hemming! So when you come over you can take them back with you, right?

            Am silent for a moment and then say, You know, Brenda, perhaps am still feeling a bit under the weather.

Determine an assignation two weeks hence. Can only hope she will have forgotten request for free clothing alteration by then.