The Occasional Migratory Pattern of the Elusive College Student Manchild

 

It is spring season and as the weather thaws, so does the patience of the elusive College Student Manchild. It becomes restless at the 3/4 mark of the school year and seeks to escape the dormitory in which it had burrowed for the winter. So it calls home at 10:00 P.M. to say it’s driving home… through the mountains… pass the trucks… in a thunderstorm. 

Mom and dad quickly arise from bed and grab their Elusive College Student Manchild watching equipment: reading glasses and Life360 plus a glass of wine for nerves. 

They watch from separate locations, checking the screen every ten to 15 minutes as the Manchild moves along route 81. The car speed and phone battery life is closely monitored. Somewhere close to 11:00 P.M., the little car on the screen moves along to route 66, slower than normal – probably due to the torrential downpour. 

Eventually, close to midnight, Life360 indicates that the Elusive College Student Manchild is in the area. Mom, who is no longer holding her breath, has moved to the front window awaiting the glow of the headlights of the creature, then lifts the garage door so that light can draw it in. As soon as it enters, she drops the door behind it. She has caught it, and the Elusive College Bound Manchild is trapped in a tight hug by both parents. Upon its release in the house, it bounds for its upstairs lair dragging its dirty laundry behind it.  

It is a nocturnal creature, that Manchild. So it was glimpsed very briefly leaving in the late afternoon as it searched for other of its species. The parents again watched from Life360 as it flitted around the neighborhood and local establishments. They heard it return late at night from their bed, only to find it burrowed in again in the morning. 

Finally, on the third day, it made a showing. It came out of the lair with clean laundry in tow and hugged the parents as it prepared to migrate back to its dormitory. The parents again grabbed their equipment of eye glasses and Life360 and followed the reverse migratory pattern until it ended two hours later back at its point of origination – the college dorm.

Pet Pages

Some mornings, my thoughts greet me at the door like an excited large fluffy dog, licking and jumping all over me before I can open my eyes, leaving drool all over the page.

Other mornings, they tiptoe in like a cat on quiet soft pads, slyly approaching and rubbing against my legs before finally jumping into my lap where it sits purring lovingly all across the page.

Then there are the mornings where my ideas are like my bearded dragon lizard that has found a good hiding nook. I go room to room calling out to no avail. I look under the tables, sofas and chairs. I pull out the couch and move the large Amazon box that arrived last week (the one filled with that thing I just had to have – but now I know not what's even in there.) I look behind my planters and inside my closets. Finally, I see the tip of its tail sticking out from behind a shelf. I grab it and drag it out with its claws scraping the floor. The cold blood that runs through him has paralyzed him motionless. He lays there waiting for me to put him under a light so he can warm up and come alive and finally fill my page.  

We Fight Every Night

 We fight every night. 

At the bell, a silent internal clock lulls us into a stupor drawing us to the horizontal slabs where our battle will take place. I go to my corner, remove all jewelry, place my water bottle within reach, plug up and turn down the volume of my phone, then pull on my aloe infused battle socks. Next, I twist my tresses into a high bun above my head to prevent injury. He goes to his corner and plugs up his phone, places his glasses on his book within easy reach, and lays it atop his Ipad, also for easy reach. Then we announce one at a time to the mediator to begin the battle. My call is “Alexa, turn off “the” light.” He calls out for his corner, “Turn off “my” light.” Occasionally if the call is not done within a close amount of time, he takes it upon himself to make my call for me. We settle in, and the battle begins. 

It starts with me forgetting my nightguard every night and getting back up to get it which disrupts the once perfectly smooth blankets. Then he sucks his teeth and rolls over which pulls the covers from my half. I climb back in and yank them back, but not before having to defend my move as a fair one due to his oblivion of having taken my portion. 

As the battle ensues, cover is pulled off feet, pillows are wrangled as if they were the target of the Lightning Thief’s Capture the Flag challenge at Camp Half-Blood. I awake pillow-less, while he has them under his head, beneath his arm, under his back and between his legs. Other times he has confused my Perfect Fit $90 flat soft pillow with his five inch high contour Perfect fit $150.00 brick leaving me with a crook in my neck at my C5, C6 herniation for the rest of the day. 

My husband, who is retired and does not have to wake up, wakes me and barks, “Roll over, you’re snoring!” I shove him in the ribs to stop his. Once in a while, I awaken to find myself in an almost 90 degree angle as he has taken my remote and lifted my side of the Sleep Number bed to stop the snoring. He does not care or maybe he forgets in his quest for peace that sleeping upright aggravates my L5,S1 herniation, locking me into a vee shape of pain in the morning. 

“Turn off that phone!” he demands on my restless nights as I try to doom scroll under the cover to mask the light. Meanwhile, he wakes me on his restless nights as he, in turn, scrolls on his phone without any concern for the glow of the blue light that wakes the light sleeper in me. I, wanting pitch blackness, cover the night light with a hamper leaving him to stub his toe during nightly potty runs. I pretend to not hear his anguish cry.

Occasionally, blows are even thrown, or skin is scratched – accidentally, I think? Twice he has made it to my side of the battlefield leaving me to believe I was in the center of my own half only to find that I was actually on the edge. A truth I discovered when I had rolled over to switch positions and crashed to the floor. “What are you doing?” he had the audacity to yell when the noise woke him. Though never admitting unfair moves, he sheepishly ensured all body parts remained on his side of the ring for the next few nights.

Eventually, the match always ends as we both settle into a deep enough sleep to not be bothered by each other’s nightly stealth moves, and we awake somewhat rested… (did I say somewhat?) greeting each other with a kiss and “Good Morning Baby, how’d you sleep?” as we make the bed together, congenially preparing it for our next battle.

Deferred Dreams

I believe

Dreams Deferred,

til time

makes time,

will

find me

save me

when I need it

most.

A Stinky Rascal

 March 5, 2026

A Stinky Rascal

They say be careful what you wish for. 

I am an artist. I draw, paint, and write. And I do each one fairly well. No, I do not live my life in a profession that allows me to hone these skills/hobbies/talents/gifts. Well, I suppose one might say I do as I try to teach 75 totally uninterested sixth graders the long lost and quickly disappearing art of writing due to AI. Instead, I live my life feeling stifled by a lack of time to ever perform any of them, (this writing aside of course.) In the last year, I made a pledge to myself to make time. So I re-read the Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron and proceeded to spend the entire summer writing Morning Pages. I spent afternoons working on and finishing a short story that I vowed to publish on Amazon KDP – no it’s not there yet, but at least I finished. I purposely chose a short story to allay the overwhelming feeling of tackling a whole novel while I’m in this baby step phase of reclaiming my long lost loves.  I also began painting. I painted tiny little pictures that were portable for my upcoming first art fair. You see, I have an MFA and used to paint on canvases that were 4’x3’ at the smallest and 4’x7’ at the tallest. That will not happen again. It literally takes a room to store all those paintings from grad school 25 years ago that I cannot seem to part with. (Emotional attachment is real.) But I digress, so as I near retirement I have vowed to start honing my skills to prepare for a life of artistry in my leisure time. I will write, and create works of art. 

Well, someone got wind of my talent, maybe it was the art fair, maybe it was me seeking praise and confirmation for my long lost art skills. And now I have been invited to show at a huge fundraiser. I am to stand there and perform like a trained monkey painting on site (something I would never do), while displaying other completed pieces that I have not even started yet because I was also given a theme to paint. Meanwhile, people who do not value true art but want a piece of it will clamor for me to sell it at ridiculously devalued prices as if it is a machine made giclee print being sold in TJ Maxx for $40.00. Even if I sell it at a very reasonable $500 for time, materials, framing, and execution. The organization will want their cut to go towards their scholarships. 

Maybe that's why I dreamed last night that I went out foraging. I came in and some mushrooms fell out of my bag. Then, I put it in the corner, and it began to move. Next a baby skunk crawled out and before I could react, a baby racoon popped its head out of the bag too. I guess something stinks, and I am going to be dealing with a relentless mischievous rascal. Be careful what you wish for.

OH TUCK!

This is written in homage to my TBFF (Teacher Best Friend for Life.) She was also an English teacher, but abandoned me for easy street. She became a reading specialist. This is not to say it is an easier job, but up until this year at our school, the reading specialist worked with three - four kids per block. Well, the old reading teacher retired, and  times changed. My TBFF got certified to fill her shoes only to find they revamped the system . No more one on one with tiny little groups. She was in charge of reading strategies and maintaining the reading test scores for all 1200+ students. In my limerick poem to her, Tuck is her maiden name. Please excuse the language. ;)

A teacher that once went by Tuck

Thought reading an easier buck.

She thought there would be 

Just one, two, or three,

But she got the whole school, Oh F*#K!

As Time Ticks

I awoke and lay there thinking about time and the lack there of. As I pondered the escape of many minutes that I truly did not need to get away, I admonished myself for the inability to do anything about it. You see, we were blessed with an unexpected two hour delay. When that happens, it’s a gift from God that says you need to rest for two extra hours. But is that really what it means? Is it a gift that the gods have bestowed upon me that says, you have been such a loyal minion who works so hard to appease the entire world, so we will bless you with two extra hours. You may now start working on those horrible (well, except for the ones that I literally dictated to the strugglers) 6th grade five paragraph essays that you have avoided for far too long due to that lame excuse of a lack of time. Hm, it could also be a gift from Hermes the god of fitness bestowing on me the opportunity to finally walk the two flights to my basement where my home fitness gym awaits forgotten and forlorn with a layer of dust, hoping my new years resolution will one day make it to the top of the list. However, after dragging myself out of the bed, and stumbling to the coffeemaker, I saw my computer and it was my Morning Pages that won out. I have been posting my challenge entries just before midnight. Today, I will finally post a TWT entry early enough to be seen and maybe luck up on a review this time. Uh oh, I’d better hurry, I only have 30 minutes left to get dressed? Where in the world did the time go?