We’ll start with an apology. This Writing has nothing to do with break-dancing, though the apostrophized title might lead on to assume it does. For those unaware, the popular* break-dancing movie “Breakin’” shares the same construction of the word. Alas, I have never seen the film and I possess as much rhythm as a plastic spork. Please forgive the lack of electric boogaloos in this Writing.
*Term used as loosely as possible.
Now, on to the subject that this log will cover: spring break. It’s the annual week that I anticipate more than most as little as six years ago. After all, it meant a break from classes, a break from study, and a break from everyday inconveniences like bathing. (Scratch that last one.) Spring break was like a mandatory vacation, and it was great. Today, spring break mainly serves as a reason to be jealous of my friends and family members that teach. Sure, they’re underpaid and they have to deal with hellion kids and clueless parents alike, but they get one week off every spring. Unfair!
While spring break now affects my work-life in the same way that dinner menus in Panama affect my slumber, I will admit that there are some perks that come with the annual holiday. For one, it means that college students skip town like sane folks flee any home airing “Jersey Shore.” I have nothing against college students – after all, I was once one of them – but I must say that life is a little less hectic when they leave in droves. Traffic clears up, finding a parking spot is no longer akin to the late stages of a Chubby Bunny contest, and the number of inebriated shouts of “wooooo!” I hear through my apartment windows in the evening hours reduces significantly. For one week, the town I call home regains the feel of a quiet place in the Midwest.
How does one appreciate such a state? Thus far the wind (which seems to currently gusting at the speed of a military aircraft) has limited the opportunities to take in much of the outdoors. I ventured to the park yesterday to sit on a bench and read*, but the wind continually threatened to confiscate my paperback and swiftly deliver it to someone up north. (Do Nebraskans like Stephen King?)
*Is it possible that I’m actually 68 years old? I’m looking into it.
As a result, my spring break involves sitting in an office, driving home while hoping the wind does not cause my car to take flight, and then crafting prose about spring break. It may not sound like much, but it’s not bad.
… I guess I could always rent Breakin’.
*Term used as loosely as possible.
Now, on to the subject that this log will cover: spring break. It’s the annual week that I anticipate more than most as little as six years ago. After all, it meant a break from classes, a break from study, and a break from everyday inconveniences like bathing. (Scratch that last one.) Spring break was like a mandatory vacation, and it was great. Today, spring break mainly serves as a reason to be jealous of my friends and family members that teach. Sure, they’re underpaid and they have to deal with hellion kids and clueless parents alike, but they get one week off every spring. Unfair!
While spring break now affects my work-life in the same way that dinner menus in Panama affect my slumber, I will admit that there are some perks that come with the annual holiday. For one, it means that college students skip town like sane folks flee any home airing “Jersey Shore.” I have nothing against college students – after all, I was once one of them – but I must say that life is a little less hectic when they leave in droves. Traffic clears up, finding a parking spot is no longer akin to the late stages of a Chubby Bunny contest, and the number of inebriated shouts of “wooooo!” I hear through my apartment windows in the evening hours reduces significantly. For one week, the town I call home regains the feel of a quiet place in the Midwest.
How does one appreciate such a state? Thus far the wind (which seems to currently gusting at the speed of a military aircraft) has limited the opportunities to take in much of the outdoors. I ventured to the park yesterday to sit on a bench and read*, but the wind continually threatened to confiscate my paperback and swiftly deliver it to someone up north. (Do Nebraskans like Stephen King?)
*Is it possible that I’m actually 68 years old? I’m looking into it.
As a result, my spring break involves sitting in an office, driving home while hoping the wind does not cause my car to take flight, and then crafting prose about spring break. It may not sound like much, but it’s not bad.
… I guess I could always rent Breakin’.
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