I was wrong. I was oh, so wrong. Being locked away in isolation for two whole days and three whole nights did not allow me to work like a hare on Crack. I got it all backwards. It allowed me work like a hare on tranquilizers.
All that peace, man. I just wanted to eat it.
And remember how I said that in my real life I normally work like a tortoise on tranquilizers . . . I got that backwards too. In real life I work like a tortoise on crack.
You get me? Slow and frantic.
There's no need to be frantic, peeps. We've got all the time in the world. At least that's what my MIL always says when we're at an all-you-can-eat-buffet.
Exhale . . . Inhale . . . Exhale . . . . (I didn't get that part backwards.)
So, you wanna hear all about my time in the slammer? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya?
Well, I drove four hours to an undisclosed location. I didn't stop once on the way. I just kept driving. And driving. And driving.
And when I got there I hunkered right down. First things first, I set up my PC at the kitchen table. How cool is that. I brought my PC. Hard drive and all. That's how old school I am.
I did not have internet access either, and I never left the house once in 60 hours. Not even to walk outside and get a breath of fresh air, or a bite to eat. I just ate what I brought--soggy homemade chicken vegetable soup, cabbage and cranberries salad, a handful of Costco rolls and muffins, and three fresh California oranges.
I took five piping hot baths--with the door wide open--and a couple of cat naps.
I cried a little bit--when I finally unpacked my son's backpack from his last day of school in Hawaii--and I laughed a little bit, in my sleep. No idea what I was dreaming about, but, I woke up on the last morning of solitary confinement giggling and smiling like a school girl.
But mostly I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. Much about the magic quilt, but other things too.
I got lonely, and hungry, and stiff, but it felt so very good, so very very good, to make quick bursts of progress. Although I will admit I look forward once again to making slow and steady progress. In between my daily grind.
So thankful for my daily grind. It is the stuff my days are made of, after all. And besides, the daily grind is what inspires and incites my material. (Plus it includes candy.) (And internet.) In fact, I rushed home. All four hours. Without stopping once. Straight into the arms of my daily grind.
I read a lot during my solitary confinement. I've now completed 6 of the 7 books on my boot camp booklist. My highest recommendations? Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, and Romancing the Ordinary by Sarah Ban Breathnack.
I read through some of these old CTD posts as well, (ones I had saved in documents) and frankly, it made me laugh. Who is that girl, Crash? I know her not? I am certainly not that girl. I pinky swear.
(Kinda wish I was though. She's got sass. And she's dumb. I long to be dumb like her.)
So, do you wanna see what was in the infamous backpack that I was FINALLY able to tackle after 18 months?
Stuff. It was full of stuff. Not even one single scary monster.
Self portraits and autobiographies and PTCO ballots. (The Mom, do you see your name anywhere on here? Sorry I never voted for you. Especially after all the times you voted for me.)
Awards. He received the Inspirational Student and Top Athletic Award. All this time, my son has been inspirational and athletic, and I couldn't even face it.
Fish art. Lot's and lots of fish art.
And finally . . . a single pog. And a single shell.
Which is basically his childhood in a nutshell.
(BTW, cleaning out the backpack was number nine on my "Twenty Tasks to Accomplish During Boot Camp" list. Number eight was to throw away all my hub's clothes, because really how many ratty gray t-shirts can one grown man own? Raise your hand if you think 13 is too many? And FTR, he hasn't even noticed that all of his clothes are gone.)
(So, anyways, that puts me at 9 tasks down, 11 to go.)
Speaking of baby steps, this same son had his first bleed in years while I was hibernating (he's a hemophiliac), and now he's taking baby steps too.
p.s. Still speaking of baby steps, Lulu is in heat, so she has to wear diapers now so she doesn't get pregnant. hee hee hee
p.s.s How cute is my baby, catching some rays with her daddy?