Sunday, December 7, 2008
(click for notes)
Keeping with tradition, one that has spanned multiple blogs, colleges, and hairstyles, I'm here for my semi-annual (now to be quarterly) finals post. If you're new here, you may not get this, but at the end of each semester of school, when deadlines loom and stress begins to show itself in odd ways (we'll get to the advent story later), I take this opportunity to procrastinate just a few minutes longer and write of my survival; I come back to the blog to map out my sanity in the only way I know how- a little humor.
This year, I'm really on top of my deadlines, planning to have my last two papers done 2-3 days before they are actually due, all other projects completed and graded, research *mostly* finished, confidence seemingly up, up, up. I use the word seemingly because of this:
About a week ago, during the last full week of classes, with lots of reading to be done, in class presentations to plan, and library trips to make, I found myself unable to sleep. Andrew, who could sleep through a ten piece band playing next to his side of the bed, barely flinched when I crept out of bed and to the kitchen for some water (does water help you sleep? I'm not sure why it seemed appropriate). As I wound my way through the stacks of books currently littering the floor of our abode, I spotted something just to the left of the kitchen entrance. There, sitting on Andrew's table, colorful, and begging me to pick up it up, was the advent calendar we purchased for $.99 at Trader Joes. People, it wasn't even December yet, we'd not opened a tiny paper door, not celebrated the day down, not marveled at the little red drawing behind the treat. No, this calendar was pristine, and well, late at night and completely overwhelmed by life, lovely; the calendar was lovely. I rationalized the first chocolate: we'd never remember the first, who ever does? And the second? nope, we'd surely forget that too. That's where the problem hit: the chocolates were terrible. I mean, bargain bin Halloween chocolate for $.25 bad, but also, they were tiny - little thin, square nuggets of joy. I am a sucker for anything small. So, I ate another. Before I knew it I was crouched in with the recycling next to the fridge opening door after door like I'd just one the advent lottery. I can't honestly decide if it was the chocolate or the process, but I was crazed, right down to December 25th. Yep, ate that one too.
The thing is, it's not like I was unaware of my actions. There was no fridge-open late night gorging that my body didn't acknowledge. I knew. I knew with every little piece of milky glory, and I rationalized each one quickly before I moved on for the next. By the end, I was hoping I'd been right all those times I'd accused Andrew of not paying attention, of not being aware of his surroundings, and I closed each door as if it had never been opened, brushed my teeth, and headed to bed.
I snuck back to bed, snuggled under the covers as quietly as possible and waited for sleep. Instead, I got Andrew. "What smells like chocolate?" Seriously. I could take a chainsaw to our walls and he'd sleep through it, but a little chocolate residue on my hands? Good Morning. I want you to know that I thought for a second about the fragility of a new marriage, about honesty, and trust, and communication, and I said the best thing I could think of: Andrew, I think someone robbed the advent calendar.
If I had been smarter, quicker on the draw, I might have set up a scene, unlocked the back door, tossed some of the ripped off paper doors on the floor to show the struggle, maybe thrown a few other random chocolate related wrappers around to show the burglars intentions, but I'm just not that good that early in the morning/late at night, and really, Andrew knows it. We've decided not to get another calendar - no point tempting those dastardly chocolate thieves to your home.
There have been no more advent massacres since then, no more late night freak outs, or crouching of any kind to eat mass amounts of confections I definitely do not need. My mom will be here in two and a half days, and really, I can think of no better motivation to push on - I'm almost there.