My brain lives on the edge of its seat every week as I convince myself I will get it down, get down the routine I have been living these past seven years, it just has not actually happened yet. Packing and unpacking (I use unpack very loosely) every three days has become a sport, only my sister and I have come close to even mastering. Practice commences on the first day of summer break and comes to a speedy close when school reinstates. A nine to twelve month long game of this launches as ‘back to school’ approaches: packing and unpacking, shifting and adjusting, dirtying and cleaning. The number one reason I do not dress up on a spirit day, or forget a jersey, or turn in an assignment late is because I forgot these curtail items in my mid week turn around.
Since middle school I have switched houses on the weekends (each week alternates between Sunday and Saturday), as well as on Wednesdays. Where on one end it is stressful, on the other I get to see each parent more often which is the only justification to this awkward timing. I will give credit to my parents, that this schedule indeed worked (using very loosely [again]) when I did not drive, we lived closer to school, and I did not have after school activities every waking second. But even with some of those convenient perks, the schedule has never been easy. As I turn this in on a Monday night (I got to my dads yesterday), my mind is already spiraling with what to pack and what to clean tomorrow night so that come Wednesday morning all of mine and my sister’s stuff is ready for transportation. Back and forth. My life actually depicts that of a ping pong ball, deep into a match, two world champion ping pong players go at it in a fierce battle that will determine their entire career. All my parents want is time. It is not their fault. It just gets a bit hard sometimes. It is my fault, my bad I will just do better next week! Really, believe me, I have got it down.