Both of my parents retired early. My dad decided to retire the summer when I was between seventh and eighth grade, and my mom was offered a killer package while I was in grade ten. Also, more than once when I was growing up, my dad took a year off (once when I was in kindergarten, and again when I was in grade four). While I certainly have a lot of memories of my parents working -- babysitters, my own house key, calling them at work to complain about my brother -- I have an equal amount of experience with my parents not working.

Shortly after both my parents through in the towel on the whole working thing, I remember a conversation. We were sitting outside having a cup of tea on a rather glorious day, and they both remarked on how unbelievably busy they were since they retired. I remember distinctly my dad saying "How did we ever find time to work?"

I feel a bit of that right now. Barring one day when I think I was awake for a grand total of eight hours, it's been crazy around here. Last weekend was a mission. Trash Palace on Friday (Christopher Plummer! John Candy! the Eaton Centre! pulled pork sandwich stains!), Free Comic Book Day/Dinner/Wolverine Saturday, the Clothing Show and a BBQ on Sunday. Then there was sleeping for sixteen hours and poetry reading (hearing Jen Currin, Christine LeClerc, Kim Mikus and Kevin Connolly read at the National Poetry Month Hangover was spectacular) and OMG I ACTUALLY WROTE SOMETHING I DON'T HATE. There have been cleaning missions and a day of cooking (mm..carrot cake). I've actually no idea how on earth I structured my time before.

This weekend is shaping up to be a dozy too. Not only is it the Toronto Comic Arts Festival, but the Trash Palace is celebrating it's second anniversary with a dusk-til-dawn 5-feature extravaganza. It's like the world's coolest, smelliest slumber party. Cactus Press is also having a launch tonight, and there's some black metal happening at Smiling Buddha Bar. I don't really even see enough time for sleeping in there.

For the last several months, BK has been teasing me about my lack of party. He found my going-to-bed-early and getting-up-in-the-morning and not-drinking-all-the-time schedule somewhat at odds to the person who made grilled cheese in his kitchen at 4:30 am. The other day, I got teased for my endless string of "let's do this cool thing!" facebook invitations (I believe he suggested I put together a weekly Natalie Zed Activities Newsletter). While I did feel a little sheepish, it also made me feel like I was doing something right with this time.

Outside it is gloriously sunny. The trees have finally broken. Everything is warm and green, and I think I hear a patio calling to me.

Labels: Literary Events, Toronto, Unemployment