At eleven thirty, I’m meeting my cousin/friend C for lunch.  I plan to order the salmon.  I plan to have a great time.  She’s ‘family,’ but she’s more like a friend.  All our lives we’ve had fun whenever we’re together.  Our mothers are sisters, but C and I are more like sisters than they are.

 

Immediately afterwards, I’m going back to class, where I’ll be giving a three-hour MidTerm that’s really hard.  I pity the fool who forgets to bring a dictionary.  It’s the last big test of this week, and WHEW.  Next week is Spring Break for me, and already I can hear my pillow calling my name.  Yeah, I’m staying up all night and turning off the clock.  Well, MY clock.  Hub will still be getting up at six thirty, so HIS clock will still be blasting away with truly terrible local radio personalities at dawn.

 

I won’t be smirking later in the month, though, when he’ll have his spring break and it will be just my alarm clock jerking me awake in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, which are horrible and I hate them except when I’ve stayed up all night, watched the sunrise, and then hit the sack.  Have I mentioned that I’m definitely not a morning person? 

 

Neither are my kids.  Or my siblings, except for one bright perky morning sister.  All of us, except for Perky, love to stay up all night and sleep in the morning.  Perky loves to go to bed at eight thirty and get up before the sun does.  Freak.

 

I love her, and I’d do anything for her, but. . . . .please, not before the stores even open.  Oh, all right, I’m busted, I’d do anything for her even at that hour.

 

Stay up all night.  Stand out on the deck and watch the sun rise.  Put the phone off the hook.  Go to bed.

 

Now, see, THAT’S my idea of spring break.  Kids, see what happens when you start getting old?  Look out.  Beware.  If you find out now, maybe you can nip any such tendencies in the bud.