weekend

This weekend, I did not read the Harry Potter book. I didn’t
even buy it. My original plan was pre-ordering, having it appear on Saturday,
and then spending the entire weekend in bed, tearing through it while crunching
on salted almonds and scritching the cat. Maybe a bathroom break, and if I was
feeling especially adventurous, a shower. Probably a shower with the book
wrapped in Saran Wrap, if my previous level of absorption with the books
(always something I forget about until I actually have it in my hands and am
turning pages) held true.

This weekend, maybe I was going to plow through the Harry
Potter book, but also I was going to clean my house. My apartment has reached
what I am pretty sure is around about frat-house levels of accumulation and
litter and hygiene. I was living in filth is what I am telling you, and
something needed to be done. I was going to cram everything that didn’t move
(or was about to start moving as it developed sentience and a rudimentary
civilization), wash the dishes and scrub all the surfaces, both horizontal and
vertical, because that’s how much fortitude and drive I have! So, so much. Really.

Because I was also going to throw open the windows and hose
down the walls and do all the irritating laundry (bedsheets, curtains, towels and cats) and vacuum the rugs and clean out the grout and organize
the mail and pay all my bills, and then set the whole place on fire and move
somewhere new. I had so many important, responsible and very good adult kinds
of plans this weekend. Sometimes, and this is a truth about life that I am
going to give you for absolutely free, plans don’t come to fruition.

Sometimes the plans that do come to fruition, instead/in
place of/despite all the other plans you have, sometimes they work out so much
better, and you end up wondering what the hell you were thinking about,
planning to spend the weekend with a pillow on your head or a dust mop in your
hand, or wandering out to get a latte because you just can’t take it any more.
This weekend, I ended up not reading a single word, which is something that
would normally make me very unhappy because I need words in a row the way the
hookers in my old neighborhood need crack injected into their eyeballs (i.e.,
badly, and frequently). And I ended up making giant, glorious messes
instead of cleaning, and the joy in which I took of those messes I cannot
adequately express.

I ended up in Utah,
of all places. A friend’s family, they give a party every year called Forties
and Fireworks. The party, as you might imagine, features both forties (of beer)
and fireworks (of explosions). You build things, and you blow them up. Which
pretty much sums up the entire weekend, to tell you the truth. I built things,
and things blew up–gloriously. That’s the word for it: things blew up gloriously.

This is the kind of weekend where you show up, you see
people you haven’t seen in much, much too long, and you realize how important
they are and how much you want them in your life. And then, things blow up, in
the very best way, and you realize that everything is suddenly, terribly,
beautifully messy in a way that you do not want to give up, and in a way you think
is going to work out fine, just fine, better than fine. Possibly the finest
things have ever worked out. Also, there were puppies.

A beautiful hotel in a gorgeous little ski town. A bathtub
that came up to my neck, and bath salts that smell like something green. Big
fluffy robes, a giant bed. Lattes, a drive to the top of town, the mountains.
Breakfast, shopping, hooker shoes (such beautiful, beautiful hooker shoes). More friends, and tequila (which I stayed away from, because
sometimes I am not stupid) and movies and wrestling and a dark drive back and
breakfast and building things from balsa wood and a pile of explosives that is
waist-high. Lighter fluid, and such a hot day, and sweet cherries and a sip of
icy cold white wine. Sitting on the grass and wishing you had a lawn, and a
pond, and landscaping. Escaping. Curling up in bed, talking in the glow of the
streetlamps and thinking this is
happiness
, because it is, and was, and still feels like it, even hours
later.

This was a good weekend, and it was exactly what I needed. I
needed to get away from my house and my life and my responsibilities, which
include the responsibilities that I have been avoiding (see above, re: my
goddamn house and also my bills). I really needed to read the Harry Potter
book, because one of these days, and very very soon, I am going to get so
spoilered for it, and be so very, extremely sad. I don’t like to be sad. I’m
tired of being sad. More than that, though, much more than a weekend full of
reading and wearing no pants, I needed to blow shit up. Never underestimate the
therapeutic effect of blowing everything sky-high.

  6 comments for “weekend

  1. littlem
    July 23, 2007 at 7:08 pm

    Now that you are back from your glorious weekend:
    1) Chore: clean for one hour.
    2) Reward: read 75 pages.

    Rinse, repeat.

    If spoilery friends come up to you, stick fingers in ears and hum, “LA, LA, LA, LA …”

    They will run away.

  2. Aimee
    July 23, 2007 at 10:06 pm

    I love the idea of a weekend of exploding things. I also love that you built things for the purpose of blowing them up. That does sound like a good way to let all the bad inside out and away.

    The cleaning can wait, hit the bills first. You will feel better when the finances are in order (even if it’s ugly).

    Good luck with the new job. I just quit mine. Iowa City I hope you are ready for another grad student!

    Aimee

  3. *S*
    July 23, 2007 at 10:29 pm

    Hooray for fun AND not being stupid. Smelling green is a very fine thing. UT can be beautiful, especially if someone else is paying and you have cool people exploding things around you. I might wear hooker shoes if I could get it in writing that I would not fall and break off my legs at the ankles and have to hobble around like the Little Matchgirl the rest of my life.

    On another topic, if you are still avoiding cleaning and bill-paying, go and read my blog. There are serial words there. You inspired at least two of the recentish posts. And I hope that you are not too fantastic to get together in mid August.

  4. July 24, 2007 at 10:04 am

    Sounds like a great weekend!

    My annual “that’ll burn” weekend is coming up very soon and I’m looking forward to burning a small, meaningful pile of crap from my past year. I’m hoping it will be as cleansing and cathartic for me as your blow ’em up weekend was for you!

    In the meantime, to pre-clean my soul, I’m bungeeing, riding rollercoasters and visiting as many museums as possible…and trying desperately to avoid spoilers too. I’m picking up the Potter book on my way out of Montreal and hoping to read it all the way home.

  5. July 25, 2007 at 4:04 am

    yay, weekend! spontaneous, irresponsible joy is good for folks. hey, i pre-ordered harry potter and tore through it already, so if you wanna borrow it, drop me an e-mail. i’m sort of in the neighborhood.

  6. July 25, 2007 at 6:38 pm

    Ahhh, even the best laid house cleaning plans can go awry (sp?)…a fun get away with friends is about a thousand times more satisfying than a clean house though. although i have some ocd friends that would probably beg to differ.

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