Then I jumped out of bed and went to work again.
That's the story I will tell my grandchildren.
At the ripe old age of nearly sixty-three, the Monday after my highly anticipated Spring Break, I faced the new day with courage and vitality.
This is the way I will describe it to anyone who cares to listen.
The strain I put on my body to "relax" over the course of the week of vacation was not enough to bring me low. I eagerly hopped on my bicycle and pedaled off to rejoin the workforce. The time and energy I put into creating a new retaining wall didn't put me in any sort of muscular deficit. I felt rejuvenated and prepared to launch myself into those last thirty-some days left in the school year.
Or maybe I could tell the truth.
When the alarm went off, there was an argument. I wanted to be asleep. The alarm wanted me awake.
The alarm won. I rolled out onto the floor next to my bed, much to the amusement of the cat who saw this as an opportunity to be fed. As if this scenario hadn't been playing out pretty steadily over the past week. The difference being that I wasn't going to meander back to my bedroom and slide between the sheets after the cat had received his morning lump of nourishment.
I kept going. Slowly. By the time I was dressed, my wife was snoring again. I woke her only briefly to tell her I was on my way.
"Have a good day," were the words she left me with as I headed to the front door. Where the day lay in wait.
Fresh and new.
Yuck.
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