Yesterday I went golfing with the Dispatch Gang, namely Chris, Brett and Carlos. I was worried about it at first because I know that Carlos golfs more than I do, like that's hard, but then I found out that Brett had only gone golfing once before in his life so I figured we were pretty closely matched. I was fairly ok when I first started golfing, but then I fell down the stairs and I hadn't gone in 2 years. When we got to the clubhouse there was a sale on women's golf balls, specially made to accommodate a lower powered swing, and I thought I should give them a try. The fact that they were pink had absolutely nothing to do with it. Brett said I'd lose them so I shouldn't bother, but I figure that I don't ever hit the ball hard enough to lose it so I might as well.
So my first few holes were right by the road (we were on the U course), and I was really rusty so I didn't use my new balls just in case. And I was right. I certainly didn't hit ANYTHING hard enough to lose it. But I didn't do terribly horrible either. By the third hole I decided I could break out the new equipment and I really like them. I don't know if it was just getting back into the swing of things (I just made my own head hurt with that one), or the boost of confidence having a cute girly ball, or if they were really better, but i started doing pretty well. I even got par on 2 holes! I also didn't lose the day, either. Brett did. Ha ha. But not by much, so I shouldn't be mean. I was 20 over, which for 9 holes makes just over 2 extra strokes per hole. Not bad considering I'm so out of practice.
Anyway, the rest of the day I spent in the office packing. I assumed it would be about the same as the last day I spent in the office packing--unfortunately the last time I was just emptying bookshelves and the hardest thing I had to do was decide which of the 37 thousand Mary Higgins Clark books should come with me and which I should take back to the DI where I found them. This time I was packing up piles and piles of papers and notebooks and a basket of laundry probably from when we moved in that got stuck inside a box accidentaly. It seemed like every box and pile had pictures in it, which had to be looked at. I was browsing through one such pile and came across one of my mom holding tiny baby Jimmy at Snowbird. I couldn't see the next one because I was crying all of a sudden for no good reason. Then after that I found my marriage certificate signed by my Dad as the officiator and that set me off too. Even the pile of laundry was difficult because it was so old it had tiny Jimmy clothes from before his gigantic growth spurt that were given to him for various special occasions by various special people. I found a broken key chain my mom brought me from Paris, pictures of Zoe building a snowman in my mom's backyard the week after Jimmy was born. I think you get the idea.
The main problem is, basically, that if I cry on my husband's shoulder, he'll start feeling guilty and get less excited about his wonderful stuff that he's doing. And he shouldn't feel guilty, because what he's doing is for everyone's benefit and if I didn't want to go I would have said that 3 years ago. But I can't cry on my mom's shoulder either because then I'll make her even more depressed and she'll be upset because I'm upset and we'll all be upset together and that would make my last week horrid.
Sooo, instead, I'm going to blog about it so EVERYONE can be upset. That makes sense. No--I'm just crying on a virtual shoulder so that people can scroll down really fast and pretend like they read it while really thinking that I should have just sucked it up like a big girl. So that's what I'm going to do now...after I listen to the appropriate Jim Croce song.
10 days and counting