I realized yesterday that every year, the vacation week in between Christmas and New Year’s feels lost. Every year. I have no idea where it goes.
I don’t get work done, I’ve got no schedule. Not like the vacations of the summers, which actually have structure to them — it feels, every year, like it’s been lost.
This despite the fact that it’s always full of activities. People come to visit (hello, cousins!), I go to visit people, we go to movies (Lincoln was indeed very good), we all read books, we play computer games, we take the dogs for all their scheduled activites (they haven’t lost a week, since they live in the moment), we eat up all the Christmas foods and get ready for the New Year’s blackeyed peas, cornbread, and collard greens. The week is actually very full. It’s even full of birth and death anniversaries.
But it feels lost, as if it’s just marking time. Is it the weather? The fact that it’s bordered by two major holidays?
And it doesn’t matter whether I’m attached to academia or out in the normal work force. It’s been the same, every week of my life, since I was a child.
As if, despite the fact that it’s constructed of normal human activity, it doesn’t live in the calendar.