By M. Scott Morris/NEMS Daily Journal
Today’s topic needs perspective, so, if you don’t mind, we’ll revisit summer 2012.
In the spring of last year, my wife made arrangements for her and the kids that provided me with four days of bachelorhood in July.
I thought about what I could do during my free time, but made no plans.
The universe, however, provided.
Former Mighty Daily Journal photographer C. Todd Sherman came in to work and said one of my favorite bands planned to barnstorm through Mississippi.
The tour coincided with Scottfest 2012. (I named it after myself because, you know, why not?)
Next, my buddy Jay Bell from “Bradenton-Fun-in-the-Sun-Baby-Florida” got hammered one night and awoke to find a plane ticket.
Scottfest was great but exhausting.
I didn’t get home from the concert until 3 a.m. and had to work the next day.
And Jay Bell is high-maintenance. He doesn’t sit still, and he calls me names until I do productive things with him, like cut limbs in 100-degree heat.
To sum up, Scottfest was fantastic, and I needed a vacation afterward.
In spring 2013, my wife once again scheduled events so I’d be alone in the summer. I thought about stuff to do, but made no plans, and the universe decided to leave me to my own devices.
I’m calling it Slugfest 2013, which could have two meanings, but I’m not the sort who enjoys getting into fistfights.
By Slugfest, I’m referring to a gastropod mollusk. (I feel smarter just using those two words. Thanks, Webster’s New World College Dictionary.)
Another definition for slug is “a person, vehicle, etc. that moves sluggishly.”
You’re beginning to get the idea.
Not much happened during Slugfest 2013, and it was glorious.
TV shows and movies were watched, and books were read. I skipped showers and developed a ripe odor, the kind you’re sometimes lucky enough to encounter when you’re sitting next to someone on an airplane for a four-hour flight.
I also missed meals because I couldn’t force myself to get out of the bed and/or the big blue easy chair.
It was bliss, even if I felt twinges of guilt about how little was actually achieved. I expressed my doubts to my wife, and she said, “Don’t worry. It’s Slugfest.”
Wow. I mean, right? Wow. Life is good.
As summer festivals do, Slugfest 2013 had to end, and it was harder to see it go than Scottfest 2012.
Last year, I was tired but happy, and ready to go forth at a more sedate pace. This year, that inertia-dampening sense of slug-a-tude doesn’t want to shake loose.
But my wife was explicit, “Slugfest is over,” so it must be.
Let me add that I hope to soon give you a report on Lotteryfest Now and Forever, which should combine the best parts of Scottfest and Slugfest. Wish me luck.
M. Scott Morris is a Daily Journal feature writer. Contact him at (662) 678-1589 or firstname.lastname@example.org.