Spring Break breaks me every year. I’m not talking financially … we rarely ever head anywhere for more than a day or two this time of year. No, mentally. I’m quite likely the only teacher in the world who looks forward to the end of Spring Break, who wants to get back to school.
It depresses me, all this sitting around the house in yoga pants and damp, puppy-kissed house shoes. I overeat and play too much Candy Crush and drink too much water, which results in too many trips to the bathroom. I use too much toilet paper during Spring Break.
Okay, so I’m likely to do all of that year-round.
The difference in Spring Break and every other day is all the daytime television. Inevitably the kids begin playing with other kids and don’t want to entertain me. I birthed them, and they won’t take a couple of hours to play Scrabble with me. And I turn to Rachel, and Ellen, and Phil. I look at Let’s Make a Deal and then Facebook and back again. I contemplate drinking wine alongside Kathie Lee and Hoda, and then I remember I don’t drink wine and that makes me sad because it’s much classier than drinking Five Alive screwdriver slushies from a plastic cup. And then I mourn the loss of Five Alive.
And those aren’t even the consuming thoughts. Nope. I worry endlessly while watching Rachel Ray that I’ll someday be on her show and she’ll make something with cabbage and I’ll have to eat it and not barf. Or that she’ll say, “Jenni, will you add a tablespoon of flax seeds?” and I’ll throw in a teaspoon of quinoa instead because I don’t know the difference in any of that. I don’t even know how to pronounce the q-word.
And when Ellen comes on, I wonder what I’ll say to politely decline an invitation to be on her show, because there’s no way that I’m dancing on television. Or anywhere. And her guests are expected to do that! Oh, the terror. I can’t breathe. Yes, I’d have to say no.
And what if I laugh so hard during my appearance on The Talk that I snort? It happens. Daily, if I’m being honest. Or what if I laugh so hard I nearly pee and have to run to the bathroom? I am closing in on my late thirties. Things are starting to fall apart. Sheryl Underwood is hilarious! I can’t stand the pressure.
Sometime around four in the afternoon, I can calm my self temporarily. You’ll never have to worry about getting asked to make an appearance on those shows, I tell myself. I take a deep breath and smile.
And then I realize that it’s because I’m not famous, and I become depressed all over again.
PHOMSITHI'S PLAYGROUND 