Spring break has arrived.
Again, there should be glee, delight, a dance of joy. Perhaps a bit of confetti.
Instead, I just glare at all the yearbook stuff I brought home and all the stuff I didn't grade from the classes I'm supposed to teach… and now I'm starting to whine, so I'll stop.
I do have a question, though. A conundrum of sorts.
Why do people yearbook staffers think that if they ignore something, it just disappears and I won't notice?
You know, disappears like when a 2-year-old puts his hands in front of his face and because he can't see you, you are not there.
Ah, if life could be so simple. I’d close my eyes all the time…and POOF…all those bad things—things like those yearbook pages and ungraded papers would simply disappear.
But this ain't no Harry Potter movie where things disapparate, and I’m not Samantha Stephens where a simple twitch of my nose can make things right. Hails bails, I can’t even wiggle my nose. (I can scrunch it, but I don’t think that counts.)
Perhaps someone knows the answer. I certainly don’t. I told the yearbook staff all 280 pages—as in every blessed one— needed to be turned in on Friday. I’m pretty sure I didn’t lapse into Mandarin Chinese. I’m fairly certain I pronounced the edict in English. I’m almost positive I didn’t have my eyes closed.
Still, one staffer opted not to turn in two pages. Didn’t even have the pages on the server. I guess she just thought it would go away. Disappear. Disapparate.
But doggone it, life just doesn’t work that way.
At least my life doesn’t.
Maybe I just need to squeeze my eyes shut really, really tight. Just maybe…
