Space

Pardon me for saying so, but the only thing worse than your run-of-the-mill hipster douche-bag, is an “I’m-in-a-hurry!” hipster douche-bag behind you as you're going through airport security. I kid you not, Dude was literally tapping his wool-socked, Birkenstocked foot at me because I wasn’t loading my stuff into the x-ray bins fast enough.

“Um, are you going to move forward or what?” he emoted… coolness and loathing radiating through his plaid shirt.

“Just a second,” I replied…in a voice that can only be described as my mother’s “teacher tone.” I needed him to seriously back up outta my grill and give me some flippin' space.

I’m not sure what he was rushing around for in the first place. I mean I’m totally sure they were going to let him bypass the body-scanner…since his skinny jeans left nothing to the imagination, let alone any room to hide airplane contraband.

In my defense, there was a guy in front of me who was moving pretty darn slow, and I didn’t feel like rushing him. I figured we could all just take it easy…those conveyor belts only move so fast, as it is.

Nine days ago, I would likely have been annoyed by the slow guy as well. I mean we all know the drill, right? Take off all your clothes and empty your bag of all the carefully packed items. It’s not like it’s difficult.

But I’m on my way home from the best dissertation vacation a girl could ever imagine. I can feel that sublime glow of complete relaxation emanating from my soul. I’m grinning like a fool. I am striding forward with the confidence born of accomplishment.

When you're down by 15, why not?

I am entirely unaware of (or at least unfazed by) the fact that our country is on the brink of economic ruin…or that outfielder/first-baseman/all-around-rock-star, Michael Cuddyer,  had to pitch the other night because my Twins suck so hard. And did someone say something about a heat wave? Because I was bundled up, enjoying grey days in the mid-60s. Yum.

Why so Zen, you ask?

 I've spent the better part of the last nine days completely luxuriating in what can only be described as a deluge of "Me Time." No one has needed me or asked me to do anything. I haven't had to be responsible for anything...I've barely even had to be responsible for myself. I haven't had to grocery shop or meal-plan or cook. I haven't had to clean or do laundry. I haven’t had to drive or plan or think about anything other than my dissertation. I haven't even had to feign interest in anyone or anything by which I was not genuinely intrigued. It has been gluttonous. Absolutely, ridiculously, obnoxiously, delightfully gluttonous.

I honestly can’t remember the last time life felt this serene.

Stole this photo from here...

(And it would seem that the Gods of Excess are going to shepherd me all the way back to the Twin Cities. I have an entire row of the plane to myself! Image me stretched out across three seats, typing away, enjoying Rainier cherries and Beecher’s cheese curds purchased at the market just hours earlier, while casting goodbye glances at the shy giant…its snowy top glistening brightly above the clouds. It’s the vacation that just won’t end. And I kid you not…the flight attendant just gave me the whole can of Diet Coke, as well as peanuts, pretzels and cookies! OMG!)

Seriously, I needed to get away. I needed to be away from disappointment and tedium. I needed to focus on nothing but my dissertation. I needed permission to be selfish.

So I headed to the Pacific Northwest, imposed myself upon one of my oldest and most beloved friends (and her fantastic family), and wallowed in the decadence of space…physical, mental and emotional space.

Nine days of space. Just for me.

Best spot ever.

I was out of bed before the sun rose (at least on the weekdays). I enjoyed the peace and quiet (and doze-worthy environs) of the commuter bus. I drank lots of coffee in the morning and ate lots of chowder in the early afternoon. I studied in every glorious corner of the Seattle Public Library. I didn’t think about anything but how academic scientists feel about the increasingly market-oriented world of their scholarly research.

At least between 6:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.

"This is?"

In the evenings, I ate home-cooked (by someone else) meals and drank plenty of wine. I gossiped and reminisced and laughed and lazed. I played Angry Birds on my brand new iPod Touch. I shared a bed with a loyal Black Lab and tried to win the affections of a contemplative and sweet—albeit early-rising—two-year old.

One night there was even a bounding, bouncing boat ride to and from a concert in the Gig Harbor town park, right next to the marina. Sing-along songs filled the air, adult beverages flowed freely and the sunset painted the sky with breath-taking artistry. Salt water from the Sound misted our faces on the way home. The waves looked like they were carved from obsidian. There wasn’t another boat around for what seemed like miles. Nautical or otherwise.

Now this is the kind of space I’m talkin’ about.

Did I mention gluttony?

Rest assured, I wasn’t entirely self-serving the entire trip. To show my appreciation, I did bring home enough King and Dungeness crab for Sunday night’s colossal crab salads and Monday night’s moan-worthy Crab Benedict… all of which were divined from the leftovers of our ginormous Saturday night crab feast.

No, no…nothing self-serving about any of that, right?

The monitor in the seat-back in front of me tells me that we’re just south of Aberdeen, South Dakota. I have about 40 minutes left of my vacation…about 40 minutes left of my space.

Time to power down the laptop and enjoy the view.

When the wheels of the plane touch down, it’s back to reality.

I am completely ready.

All my love and appreciation to the warm, wonderful Shaw family. What would I do without you? Especially my dearest DeeBott! There aren't enough words in the world to express my gratitude. :)

Made My Day: On Hold

It's already 99 degrees with the heat index. A full 44 degrees hotter than my ideal outdoor temp!

As I (begin to) type this post, I am on hold with Facilities Management at work. My air-conditioner isn't functioning at all. Actually, it works in the "making crap-tons of noise" department...but not at all in the "cooling/removing humidity from the air" department.

Maybe we have some strategic mission differentiation going on with the AC units on campus. If so, this isn't the location I would have chosen. (That was a bad higher ed joke, for those of you working outside the Ivory Tower. My most sincere apologies.)

Save me Facilities Management! You're my only hope!

My cheeks are flushed to match my maroon, "Gopher Friday" t-shirt, my fingers feel fatter than sausages, and my half-finished cup of coffee (that has been sitting on my desk for hours) has not yet cooled to lukewarm.

So I'm on hold.

The playlist for the customer service center seems to be comprised of delightful classical music. I don't know my concertos from my sonatas nor my études, so I couldn't begin to tell you what I'm listening to. But I can tell you that as I've been listening, the sweet, frolicky notes have given way to consternation.

And then the mood retreats to light loveliness.

And then the darkness and frustration return (I've been on hold for awhile now)...

...for more sustained amounts of time...

...it becomes even more furious and dark and desperate.

Just like me. With my loud, rattly, non-cooling air-conditioner.

Geez...metaphors are a bitch. :)

_________

Happy Friday to you, my tens (and tens?) of readers! I hope you have a wonderful 4th of July weekend!