I remember last session, when it ended and we all knew we were going into a special (or several), our catchphrase for the last days of that and the others was “Sine Die! Die! Die!”
This time, knowing that we may actually wind up with an 18-month interim for the first time since 2003, I was reportedly a little nostalgic at the media party over the session actually ending.
(Yeah, I’m going to need to take someone else’s word for that. I’m an unreliable witness to my own actions on Monday night.)
Tuesday morning, as I lounged in my cool, dark apartment, sleeping past noon and listening to the sweet silence with no TV, radio or cell phone distractions, something else happened.
I got over it.
It’s over, and now it’s time to breathe.
Time to pay the bills that have stacked up on the entry table (I counted 15 envelopes on the way out the door this morning), time to collect the papers out of the front yard and do about three weeks worth of laundry and dry cleaning. Time to remember what it feels like to breathe fresh air instead of 50-degree air conditioning. Time to go out for lunch (outside the four-block radius) instead of slam trail mix or stand in line behind a bunch of citizens so I can consume a $9 tuna sandwich in the Capitol extension.
Time to make reparations to friends and family and pets who don’t really understand – because few do – the life-sucking implications of covering the Legislature and really did think I had abandoned them for the past few months.
(Though the pets are usually the only ones who show their great displeasure by peeing on my cowboy boots...)
Time to try and quash the ding-ding sound of the voting bell that stays in my head for days after the session ends, time to find something else to dream about at night besides legislative anxiety (covering a press conference in your underwear? Anyone? Bueller?) Time to lose weight, my God.
And time for the shout-outs.
First, I send one in particular to the hard-working, hard-partying, burn-the-candle-at-both-ends staff I came to know and respect during the session (holla, clerks!).
Also, to the readers who both kept us on our toes and defended us from those who wished to throw rocks. People in ivory towers like to do that, so thanks for keeping them in their places when my editors (with good reason) wouldn’t let me do it.
And to the editors, who were all the way up in Dallas but still managed to understand exactly what we were going through.
Rarity.
Thanks, thanks, and thanks.
And also, of course, to the lawmakers, for making this one of the most dizzying and, yes, extraordinary sessions in memory.
Props for that.
Peace out. It's still light outside, and Brooksie needs a cocktail.