For the first time in several years, I’ve completed all my grading by Day 1 of Spring Break. (Granted, there’s always little things I need to check on to give my students participation points, but I’ve decided I’ll wait until next week to do those.) I also don’t have other classes that are impeding on this break—usually, one school’s spring break hasn’t been during another—so I don’t have any official responsibilities for an entire week.

I’m feeling antsy. I know that this week will disappear far too quickly, yet I can’t settle down to do what truly needs to be done. I cleaned the bathroom, folded laundry, made the bed, considered the cleaning the kitchen, but decided against it. It took me a full 30 minutes to decide what to wear (in these times of sweat pants I understand why people dressed up for going out in the olden days) when I head out to run errands and hang out in Washington Square Park on this lovely day of spring.

What needs to be done is write, of course. It’s not even that I don’t want to write—I do. I think that part of what’s making me drag my feet against the desire is that I see the end of the novel, and I want to get to that end, but at the same time I don’t. I don’t want to finish it. I like thinking about the characters, discovering their weaknesses and strengths. I don’t want to do what comes next.