Bach'ing It.

Bach’ing It.

At four o’clock this morning, I rose and did not shine and drove my wife and our two kids to the airport. They are traveling to upstate New York to visit her folks and family. I returned to my home and slumber. I woke up a couple of hours later to an empty house. Actually, the dogs were here, but since I am a marginally neglectful dog owner, they don’t imposition me too much.
My kids are a different story. They are, definitively, impositions; cute, fun ones that I love more than any words could express, but impositions nonetheless. It was very strange this morning, not having to fix breakfasts, bedsides my own, (leftover Mexican food and some jerky). I did not have to make any lunches or find socks for my daughter or tell my son to get out of the shower. I did not have to watch cartoons or make sure homework was complete and packed in the appropriate bag. I did not have to race to any schools to keep my kids from yet another tardy.
My schedule is my own and that is, sometimes, dangerous. Left entirely to my own devices, I am a wildcard. The angel and devil on opposing shoulders wage a noisy battle for my attention. I have much that needs to be done. I have responsibilities and duties and obligations. I also have an incredible capacity for procrastination and since “free” days are so rare for me, it would seem a shame not to let the devil drive a little bit. Finding some balance will be my goal and perhaps a daunting challenge.
Fortunately, some of my schedule is already booked. I have a meeting and I promised to help out a neighbor with some yard work. These should help tip the scales and keep me out of trouble for a while. If I play my cards right and diligently perform my tasks with clean intentions and a clear mind, I could actually stockpile a few good credits to be used later as an offset for any of my bad ideas. I think this is a good plan. I think can do just enough work to keep me guilt free. We’ll see how it goes.
The quietness of the house is already getting to me. These things I complain about and some days pray to escape from, I miss. I liken it to the “Stockholm” syndrome in which a captive develops strong feelings for his/her captors. I feel like a newly released prisoner missing the guards that kept him locked up. While am excited, on many levels, about my liberation, I am also going to miss my captors.
I will schedule a tee time for a rare non-wife-negotiated golf game with buddies. That might help with my pain. I will call some buddies and plan on meeting (at the bar) to watch some football this weekend. This might be another step towards feeling better. Maybe, I’ll see who is free Saturday night some shuffleboard and a few beers. I think it’s working. I am starting to get relief. Perhaps, I’ll plan on a Sunday morning breakfast with lots of bacon and zero extra napkins dedicated to wiping up “somebody’s” spilled orange juice…NOW…we’re talking!!
My family only just left and won’t be gone long, but I miss them already. They are what I care about most and I will be very happy when they get home and life returns to normal. In the meantime, I’d better call about that tee time to help me cope with their absence.