End of Vacation Panic and Mother Necessity

I’m down to hours now, thirty six of them. Then it’s all over. The unlikely event of a stay is, well, unlikely. Unless I win tonight’s lotto drawing, I have to return to work on Monday. And if I don’t leave my cocoon of doom to buy a ticket, that possibility will fall into the category below unlikely.

How is it possible, time being time–a constant, that it passes with Nasa engineered speed when a person is not at work? And when a person–this person anyway–is at work, it’s like a vortex of infinite seconds.

I think it’s the control aversion I’ve had since birth. Being in control is one thing but being controlled is quite another. Structure is not something I’m terribly fond of even if it is something I probably need. I like to move about unrestricted and not have to return phone calls or listen to anyone complain. I only want to deal with people on my terms, like a cat.

So with all of this weighing on my mind, I’ve been doing what I always do in my final days of freedom–desperately seeking inspiration. I have to invent something–fast. I heard yesterday about a woman who invented a cupcake holder. How many years have women been dragging cupcakes to elementary schools all over this country, if not the world? How awkward a task is this to manage? I did it myself, although not often because it requires way more coordination and grace than I possess. The woman who invented this multi mini cake must is most certainly through being told what to do. And I, once again, ask myself, “Why didn’t I think of that?”

As much complaining as I do about all of life’s inconveniences and irritations, you’d think I’d be pumping out plastic pre-requisites right and left. It’s just a timing thing. I think of them after they’re already on the market.

The other option I’ve thought of is learning Vietnamese and having women pay me to accompany them to the nail salons. They finally find out what’s being said about them and their toes. I get paid. Everybody’s happy. Except that would still require me to deal with people. Possibly unhappy and insulted people.

Even if I take the voodoo dolls representing my neurotic, obsessive compulsive, control freak manager and her controlling, advanced alcoholic, manic depressive, anti-social manager off my shelf and do a little black magic, they’ll just be replaced.

Tomorrow is another day of glorious freedom. Maybe something divine will happen. A kitchen or laundry fiasco to inspire me and set me free.