Summertime living traditionally hasn’t been especially easy for me. I attribute this to the fact that there isn’t one of my favourite things—school—to give me structure and keep me intellectually engaged. In contrast with most of my peers in undergrad, who for whatever reason looked forward to the last day of classes (what??), I dreaded its coming. Summer courses weren’t an option because of scholarship conditions, leaving me with four months to fill with work and travel, during which I’d usually sign up for a study-abroad program of some kind just for kicks. Ugh, right? Yup, I realize how horribly privileged I sound. To avoid a May–August slump, I negotiated a self-directed course for the summer between my MA and the start of my PhD. A doctorate is, of course, an uninterrupted trudge toward completion so no summers to worry about there. Paradise!

It’s strange to think that this is literally the first break I’ve had from school since I started my MA and my first break not counting summers since I stopped unschooling (and the first since kindergarten if you don’t count summers but do count learning at home). The idea is pretty weird.

I guess, then, that instead of being bitter about my lack of productivity, I should try to embrace this chance to lounge around and alternate watching Friday Night Lights with reading Italo Calvino novels. I might never have this opportunity again; might as well take advantage of it.

Summer can't be that bad. And yes, I realize that this isn't a particularly attractive leg picture; my apologies.
Summer can’t be that bad. I realize that this isn’t a particularly attractive leg picture; my apologies.



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