For years, since I watched the first Lord of the Rings movie, I loved Bilbo’s statement about feeling like butter too thinly spread over bread. For years, every spring, I referenced that line because I empathized with Bilbo’s statement. After a long school year, after a long year of pushing myself and striving toward perfection and pushing and pushing and pushing students who were similarly exhausted and burnt out or were just apathetic, the weariness. The fatigue. It became, at times, punishing.

And this year, somehow, I am not thinly spread butter. I am wiped out. Peter’s death and the stress related to grief have worn me out. But I noticed today that I haven’t been counting hours to Friday.

I am an English teacher. I can’t do math. Unless it’s a countdown. And then I can subtract, divide, conquer. I started counting down the days to summer break back in 2005. And, yearly, I would write my countdown somewhere in February or March.

This year, the countdown went up about eight school days ago.

By Wednesday, I could easily count down hours until the Friday dismissal bell. I clung to those decreasing numbers becuase, no matter what, I had the weekend. I had time to recuperate. I could grade or breathe or write or read or sit on the couch and drool on myself.

This year, I don’t count down the hours to Friday. Even today, Thursday, I didn’t really think about how close the weekend was until I left school and it dawned on me that I only have 24 hours until the weekend.

I love my job. I really do. I love reading and writing. I love working with the students on how to discover hidden meanings. I relish those moments when we laugh over something in Midsummer Night’s Dream or the students really see how they can edit their writing to send a stronger message. I love bringing in guest speakers or trying out new activities.

I love it all.

I also love the quiet hours in my house when I am wrapped up in my pajamas and ignoring the television as I play stupid phone games or write or read or do all three which is impossible but I’ll figure out a way to do it.

Grieving is exhausting. I circumnavigate memories and strive to find peace on a daily basis. I am thankful for my incredible therapist who has helped me find my own confidence, find my own worth. I inhabit the space of my skin with a new ease. And I see it in how I look at the clock. Register the time. But don’t count down hours.

Or days.

I am looking forward to summer break. It’s only 18 school days away. Yes. I’m counting.

Because this summer is going to be my summer. This summer, I am going to live in the sanctity that I have carefully crafted. I am going to hike. And write. And garden. And breathe and breathe and breathe some more. I am going to prepare for next year and craft incredible lessons and I will live with joy. With enthusiasm. And I will pause when the grief strikes. And I will pause when the day settles over my shoulders.

I am at peace. And I live with the quiet contentment of a difficult year that has yielded fullness.