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The summer is nearly over, and in a number of ways, it feels as if it never began. It's strange, this idea of "summer." Summer isn't like it was when we were kids, when we were in school full-time. You don't get the summer off from your job unless you're a teacher, and most teachers I know work at something during the summer. Somewhere over the course of my life I got this mythical idea of what summer is, and when I come to the end of August and my summer hasn't been that, I feel vaguely disappointed. I don't know why this is. I don't enjoy a lot of summer's qualities. I don't like to be hot, so going outside in July? Not first on my list. I have no desire for either a sunburn or skin cancer, so I keep my skin hidden away from the sun most of the time unless I have drowned it in 50 SPF sunscreen first and even then, I often avoid it (see before: re: hot). I don't often go to the shore in the summertime because the New Jersey ocean is very cold and very overcrowded, and again, there's that pesky sun problem. I like popsicles, and the idea of Mister Softee even if I never run for the truck. I like grilled food even though we've only grilled once. I like the vacation part, but ours was in May. I do like the being off from school part but when you only take one class at a time, does that really count? I guess summer to me really means theatre, and I certainly had that. I had a really, really good summer of theatre. Much better than last summer. And we did see some friends, some more often than others. We watched some movies and I read a lot (though nothing of real substance) and somehow got hooked on Days of Our Lives again, which seems like a very summer thing to do. School starts next Wednesday, which is what provoked this, I suppose. I'm taking 18th-Century British Novels this semester. I have to read two chapters of Ian Watt's The Rise of the Novel for the first class, and then the primary booklist is: Defoe, Moll Flanders; Richardson, Pamela; Fielding, Shamela & Joseph Andrews; Burney, Evelina; Austen, Emma; Hornby, High Fidelity; H Fielding, Bridget Jones's Diary. (I'm really looking forward to seeing how the last two fit into the course.) I have a September of theatre to look forward to as well; I start rehearsals for Charlie Brown a week from Tuesday. CB goes up the first two weekends in October, though, and then I have no other theatre commitments until the show choir alumni show in January and possibly the summer show again next year, if I'm asked. So after September life will become just school and work and Greg; the first and third of those are wonderful and the second? We shall see. I do not find my job a stimulating or interesting thing. Perhaps I would feel differently if I had the summer off from it. We will break the tedium with some trips, as usual; I am going to JournalCon (just registered and bought my plane ticket today) and we are going to Boston Halloween weekend so Greg can present his article at a university there. We are most likely going to Milwaukee for Thanksgiving. Beyond that, I'm not sure. If I was 16 again, and my summer had been mostly free, I would know why I am dreading September. I am not entirely sure why I'm dreading it now, unless it's because my summer was incredibly busy and lacked much relaxing time. Hmm. I may just have something there. |