What does Spring Break mean to the prof who's on sabbatical?
It means there's no point in going to campus because everyone I'd like to see is either off gallivanting somewhere interesting or, more likely, hunkering down at home with a pile of midterms to grade. I'm tempted to call them all up and sing the "I'm on sabbatical and you're not!" song, but that would be wrong.
Really wrong.
So don't even think about it.
Maybe I'll just stand outside their windows and hum it softly.
For the sabbaticaler (sabbaticalizer? sabbaticalitioner? sabbaticationist?), Spring Break resembles the rest of the semester, only lonelier because of the aforementioned absent colleagues. I could just stay home and continue working on my research project, which, frankly, has gotten a little unwieldy. It's time to close the books on reading and note-taking and start doing some serious writing.
First, though, I think I'll take a break. Tomorrow I'll drive up to my daughter and son-in-law's house to spend a few days helping my daughter celebrate her grad-school Spring Break, although I wish I'd reminded her earlier that the word "Break" is strictly metaphorical and does not mandate the breaking of limbs or the spraining of ankles. Can a musical grad student go canoeing on crutches? We're about to find out!
If nothing else, we can spend some time writing new verses to the "I'm on sabbatical and you're not!" song. One of these days I may even get the courage to sing it.
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