Dear End-of-the-Semester

10 Dec

Dear End-of-the-Semester,

I’m tired. I have a headache. YOU SUCK.

I still have a fifteen page paper to write. I was feeling all on top of things, because my final portfolios for both my poetry workshops were due last week and I got them done with little to no stress. Then this week I had fifteenhundredeleven tutoring workshops, and my professors decided (rightly) to celebrate the end of the semester with us by making our last classes potlucks. Potlucks!

I love potlucks.

These look scary to me.

Then before you know it, I’m making cookies on Sunday, blueberry muffins Monday night, and I’m running home in between tutoring and classes on Tuesday to make cupcakes (because they can sit in my car all day Wednesday while I’m on campus without turning green– like meat, for example). Then, before you know it, I’ve burned the cupcakes, and I’m running home Wednesday to make another batch of cupcakes and all of a sudden I’m a crazy PTA Mom (hi guys!) and I can hear a little voice inside of me that sounds a lot like nine-year-old me trying to reassure my mother, “But no one will care if you just buy something!”

And something else inside of me says, “But I can have it all! / I hate the grocery store.”

And then before you know it, I’m not putting my poems to bed because I’m busy making cupcakes for all the other poems in the class and they’re crying and I’m crying and the second batch of cupcakes is burning and all I want to do is watch Tombstone but I still have a fifteen page paper to write and I hate everything I’ve written this semester and I’m wondering why I didn’t just bring the open, half-eaten, stale bag of chips that’s in my cupboard.

And then I’m sitting at my laptop saying, “I just want everybody to be happy! I’m doing my best! Why doesn’t anybody appreciate me?!?” And yes, my laptop is my husband in this analogy. Metaphor. Conceit. What is this, again?

Oh, I’ve got the end-of-the-semester blues….the blues….the sad-sack blues…

Why don’t you come with foot rubs and soothing chamomile tea and maybe a parade celebrating everything I’ve done all semester? Hmmm? Think we could work that out? I’ll bake you something delicious to eat…

Not fondly,

MM

PS– And then I’m running around like a cracked out bakery chef saying, “Please take a cupcake. Please. Take. A. Damn. Cupcake.” Because I already have cookies and muffins at home and what am I going to do with all the cupcakes? I love cupcakes. I do. I’m not opposed to eating a lot of them. But I live alone. I get headaches from too much sugar. I have a headache. Someone take a cupcake. (That is not a euphemism.)

Advertisements

4 Responses to “Dear End-of-the-Semester”

  1. Gina 10 December 2009 at 10:16 pm #

    I ate one of your cupcakes for breakfast and it made my morning. And I agree with you – end of the semester sucks!!!

  2. margaret michelle 11 December 2009 at 7:22 am #

    Gina– thank you. It’s nice to know those cupcakes are out there doing some good in the world. You know, you try to give them roots, but you also try to give them wings… ; )

  3. Wilson 11 December 2009 at 10:47 am #

    I wish your cupcakes lived in Seattle still because I would SO love a cupcake for breakfast right about now!

    And I, too, hate the grocery store. Well said.

  4. margaret michelle 11 December 2009 at 3:24 pm #

    WilsonCongratulations! Yep, those two words have officially become one in my mind. And thank you. Sometimes I wish my cupcakes still lived in Seattle too….then again, in Seattle, I just go to Trophy or Cupcake Royale. Who needs to make cupcakes when you can buy such ridiculously glorious creations?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: