I’m sad.
Very sad, actually. Today marks the 4 week point until we return to the States. Sigh. Okay, so I think it’s only temporary; we’ll be back here for another stint in a couple years. And I like my life in Philadelphia. Truly excellent friends, my teaching gig at UPenn, the corgi. But still.
I’m sad.
So today I’m doing a sad list, one of pathos and melancholy and rue.*
Ten Regrets
1. I never learned to look mahvelous underwater, and now that Esther Williams is gone, it might be a pipe dream.
2. I have only just discovered the delights of Bill Nye (“Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.”), The Brain Scoop, Hank Green, I (Am Ever, Ever So Fond of) Science, and poison gardens. What have I been doing all my life???
3. I have never petted a tiger, pangolin, bumblebee, marine iguana, or manatee. I have, however, petted a Monet painting, which was a very, very naughty thing to do.
4. Apparently, nothing I say about anything has any effect whatsoever on Tea Party policy.
5. I have a mindboggling inability to leave peanut butter and expensive cheese in the fridge. Cookies in the cupboard, ice cream in the freezer, pizza in the box: no problem. It’s all yours.** But as soon as I pop a jar of PB for Madam’s lunch or buy a few ounces of crazily overpriced truffle peccorino, I turn into the corgi (“I’ll eat that, so what if it’s for later/something else, yes I know you told me not to but I’ll eat that, you gonna eat that ’cause I’ll eat that, of course it’s not good for me but I’m really really gonna eat that…”).
6. I still haven’t figured out how to incorporate bog bodies into a nice teen hearts and flowers story. I even spent the afternoon in the National Museum in Kildare Street yesterday, doing research and pondering. All I came up with is that Irish visitors stay the longest in the exhibit pods, Americans are most likely to say things like “Eww!” and “That’s disgusting!”, and Scandinavian visitors actually read the display info.
7. I will not be attending any of the Scandinavian Vikingfests this summer.*** No wandering through Trelleborg or Hafnarfjordur watching men and women from all over the world (literally all over; if Americans can don horned hats and big furry vests, why not someone from Japan or Nigeria?) run around in..well, horned hats and big furry vests.
8. I do not understand the appeal of jazz. Or dubstep.
9. I get motion sick in hammocks, most amusement park rides, IMAX theaters, and the occasional beach chair. Which would complicate things greatly if I had any desire whatsoever to retire to the Walt Disney World Resorts or Universal Orlando.
10. I have the ethics of a sloth and the speed of a snail when it comes to most writing projects. And while I quite like sloths and snails, I never aspired to be one. I always thought I would be a lobster.
*okay, the good news is that all these things are either fixed, fixable or, in the great scheme of things, totally unimportant
**assuming Himself or Himself Jr don’t get there first; they consider it a matter of disrespect to leave certain foods unfinished
***there is every chance, however, that we will be attending the Gathering of the Vikings in Clontarf this weekend