Anticipa … Tion Whether It’s Christmas Eve Or An Impending Vacation, The Waiting Part Is What Really Counts

My favorite day is Thursday, and it always has been. By noon or so on Friday, you’re as good as sucked into the weekend, and it’s all over but the crying, except at the very least another weekend will come along soon, and you can try again.

I like Thursdays like I like Christmas Eve, when the packages still sit sparkling under the tree and I can imagine that the perfect gift is in there somewhere. In my imagination, there are no pairs of underwear, no socks, no housecoats and no irons, the latter of which ranks as my all-time least-loved gift. I opened the box and, without meaning to, said, “You’re kidding. Right?” He wasn’t.

See? Anticipation’s the thing. Reality is often so disappointing.

I like the day before I leave for vacation, too. I’m packing my suitcase and double- and triple-checking to make sure I have my tickets and my money. I take the time to indulge in little travel games that make me happy. I hide my wallet from myself while I’m packing, so that, with a brief little sharp intake of breath, I get to experience that momentary panic when I think that the vacation money I’ve so diligently saved is gone forever, and why, oh, why didn’t I buy traveler’s checks? (Because I hate cashing them, that’s why. I always apologize as I sign them, and I don’t tend to shop in places that recognize them anyway, that’s why.)

The day before my vacation, I’m watering plants and vacuuming again so that my house will be clean, a shrine to my ability to run a home. I get it all cleaned and dusted and look around and think, “Wow. I could live here,” and feel a momentary temptation to stay behind with the pets, just to wallow in the orderliness around me. If I am killed in a plane crash and someone has to go through my stuff, my soul may go to hell, but my house will be immaculate.

And I’m calling my friends to let drop that I’m going off on vacation, careless and carefree me. I am ticking off my points of destination and speculating on which place I’ll like best. I’m figuring a change of latitude is going to stop the slow progression of the slip knot that is inching its way up my neck, and yes, seven days isn’t long, but you can pack a lifetime in seven days if you try hard enough.

And then I’m tucking myself into bed and going through the list in my head of all the things I’d hoped to accomplish and all the things I actually did accomplish, and I’m happily jittery because, of course, the lists don’t match.

And then it’s vacation day, and I’m at the airport, sauntering into the gift shop and buying myself a present: a bunch of magazines, usually, so that I can have something to put over my face while I’m dozing on the plane. Who cares? It’s only money, and at the beginning of a vacation, my pockets are full, and I’m almost looking for an excuse to break my first $20 on, say, a packet of mints. (Clean breath to go with my clean house, I guess.)

And then the bored captain comes on the intercom and tells me we’re fifth in line for takeoff, and I fold the magazine over my face and about a minute later, I’m sitting on a chaise lounge - the kind I wish I could afford to put around my pool, if I could afford one of those, too - and I’m watching the sun set over the Pacific and thinking retirement can’t come early enough because I firmly believe that by the time I retire I’ll have so much money stashed away that life will be one long vacation. (Of course, I’m naive.)

And then boom! Before I get to try out my new camera, I’m back at my desk at work looking out at the traffic stalled in the squiggly heat coming up from I-84.

At that point, I’m almost glad I didn’t take any pictures, because seeing me standing under that palm tree is too painful when viewed in the climate-controlled comfort of my workplace. Good times go by too fast. Your kid’s spitting up on your padded shoulders, and then she’s piercing her bellybutton. Your little sister turns 50. Your waist widens, and your mind narrows. Where did the time go? And how can I get it back?

But today is Wednesday, the eve of my favorite day of the week. Things could still go my way. You never know.