by David Kazzie
Then it had to go and get all warm and sunny outside.
Convenient.
As desire-to-study killers go, none is more remorseless or brutally efficient
than nice weather.
To quote Ferris Bueller: "How can I possibly be expected to handle
school on a day like this?"
Indeed.
It started earlier this week. I was watching the Weather Channel, minding my own business, when the three-day forecast popped up. Immediately, I knew we were in all kinds of trouble. Thursday, 77 degrees. Partly sunny. Friday, 83 degrees. Sunny. Saturday, again sunny and no work of any kind getting done.
In a perfect world, I would have kept up with my work and outlining all semester, so I could afford to blow off a couple days.
Of course, in a perfect world, I would be a charter fishing boat captain in the Caribbean with millions of dollars hiding in offshore accounts.
I did the best I could. I made lists of things to do. I set my alarm early, even though I don't have class on Thursdays. I had all kinds of big plans on Day Number One of the Conspiracy to Wreck my Semester with Two Sunny Days. Sure enough, by 10:30 I was out at Family Golf Center with a bucket of balls at my feet. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Coincidentally, it also ends at the front door of the law school.
Certainly, spending part of one morning hitting golf balls is no need to panic. I've seen administrators at this very law school stroll into work after playing nine holes. Oh. I see. The administrator has a job. I do not. A subtle yet crucial distinction.
Anyway, I salvaged part of that day. I did some work. I can't remember what it was, but it was something.
Friday. I awoke to a cool breeze blowing through my house. The sun was shining. The sky was blue, which incidentally IS the color of my car. I got to school by 9 a.m. Things were looking up. I was going to beat Mother Nature at her own game. I was focused, ready to hit the books for the day, because the weekend was looking like a wash, what with the Barrister's Ball and my rotisserie baseball draft both that weekend. If I could just buckle down Friday, I would be in good shape.
Then a first year stopped me in my tracks.
"What are you doing here? I figured you'd be playing golf by now,"
she said.
No. No. No. Please. No. Didn't she realize what she had done?
It was too late. She had planted the seed, and it was growing like a beanstalk.
I tried to make a joke. I told her if she bailed on her classes for the
day, then I would go play golf.
Alas, the damage had been done. The first year was off to her morning
class, and I sat in the lab, knowing I would play golf that day. Everything
else on that To Do list would just have to wait.
I worked my shift at the library. I went to my afternoon class. I made it
to my 2:30 meeting. I found someone else to play golf with. The rest of
the day went by the wayside.
I hit some good shots. I hit more bad shots. I hooked one of my tee shots
into a tree, but it kicked out into the middle of the fairway. I saved bogey.
I hit a perfect 3-wood shot from the fairway.
I lost a few balls. I took a nine on both hole 8 and 9, essentially ruining
what had been a decent front nine.
I did not read my federal income tax homework. I pushed off a bevy of other tasks, which necessitated my getting to school by 10 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Now that means I have to miss Hang Time and the rest of the Teen NBC lineup. I hate that. All this to chase a little white ball on a stunning sun-splashed afternoon.
Certainly it's not just Fate torturing us with this nice weather.
Maybe it's just El Nino. Which, of course, is Spanish for —
The Nino.
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