The End of Summer

I’m currently wedged between pillows on my parents’ oversized green sofa, watching one of the family’s cats try to decide whether she wants to put her second paw outside. This particular cat has doubled her body weight in the past year. (“Food is love,” says Mom.)

This evening I’m going to be on a plane, headed back to Chicago. The quarter starts on the 27th, and after that I’ll be back into my routine of class, homework, and writing.

The summer has been a remarkably productive one. I didn’t do much writing, but I have the rest of my novel plotted meticulously. (This is a blatant lie. Consider this my call for help.) I took three classes, raised 6 kittens, their incredibly neglectful mother, and am beginning to make plans to fix up my leaky bathroom.

I had a job, too. Let’s not talk about it.

Sometimes, when I feel crappy about goals that I’ve set for myself, I try to remind myself that there are plenty of other things that I’ve done. It’s easy to get bogged down in things you should have done, but I do believe that there’s something to be said for spontaneity, even if it is unproductive. I try to remember that when I manage to completely ignore goals.

Of course, all that spontaneity is about to be crushed under the impending doom of a new quarter.

Why am I in college again?


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