dead week.

That's what I'll call the most beautiful week in the whole school year. Let me tell you, reader, if you didn't know: eight straight weeks of school is a lot. It's a lot of everything. A lot of tests and quizzes and studying and reading and writing and waking up and walking in the rain and going to the library and babysitting and going over notes and hand cramps and going to bed early and math problems you don't understand and a heavy backpack and notecards and highlighters...it's a lot. And so, as you are probably concluding, I was burnt out, and I wasn't the only one. We were all on edge, getting snappy with each other when it wasn't necessary, getting irritated when it should have rolled off of our backs, becoming more and more exhausted as we slept less and spent more time dealing with things like halogens and venn diagrams. And then, like a ray of sunshine, spring break shined into our lives with promises to be easygoing and stress free and fun. And we were up for it. In fact we said, "FUN? Why, I haven't seen you in awhile. SLEEP? yes, come on in, thank you, nice to see you again. HANGING OUT WITH NO OBLIGATIONS? Sign me up, sure, I'd love to." So that's how it happened.

I went home the first weekend, and then I headed to Lake Martin. When I arrived, a bunch of rested kids were making pancakes at one in the afternoon. That, my friends, is when I knew it was going to be an incredible week. (I was hungry.) I stayed the whole week, and our days went something like this: Sleep until 11. Eat muffins. Play scattergories. Watch a movie. Nap. Read a book. Eat tacos. Play Risk. Eat brownies. Have a dance party. Go to bed really late. Sleep.*

Obviously, there were variations. I mean, some days we ate cinnamon rolls instead of muffins. And sometimes we slept until noon. We played Wackee Six a lot instead of scattergories. We didn't always eat tacos. We did this night, though.

And I wasn't lying about the Wackee Six bit, either. Or the dance party.

   

       That's right, Internet. I know how to shake my booty. Alright, not really, but that sure doesn't stop me from trying and then posting pictures on the World Wide Web of it.  Moving right along, here's us playing Risk: (just so you know I'm telling the truth) 

On Friday, something wonderful happened: the sun came out. We took advantage. We put on swimsuits for the first time since last September, we put enough sunscreen on for ten gingers because, well, we gave the illusion that we were ten gingers because, Hello, it's been winter for five months, and we shivered through bouts of wind because, um, it's only March. But by golly, Internet, we got semi-tanner than we were before! And even though just looking at the water sent us into hypothermic shock, we sat around it and dreamed of less-Marchy-more-Juney days.

                               

And before you could say, "Hey, I could get used to this!" it was over. Saturday threw us sad goodbyes and stressful septic system shocks and good-intentioned visits from old friends, and we packed up and headed home. Yesterday, school came back swinging, and my breath got knocked out. I had class at 10, and by 10:45, the stress had crept back up and was laughing at me, as it will continue to do as the semester peaks and comes to a close with FINAL EXAMS and then ENDS. Which also means MY FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE IS ALMOST OVER. But I'll save that for another day, aye? Alright. Carry on with what you were doing before you got distracted by that booty dancing photo.

*In our defense (in case defense is needed), we also spent some of our time grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking, and organizing the newly remodeled lake house. That's right, we were dream kids. Or, at least, nice house guests.