I hate the summer. Partially because of the weather — it topped 100 degrees today — but mostly just because there’s nothing to do. Those classes that once kept me up at night cramming for tests are no more, no need to check my grades daily, hell, there’s not even a reason to leave the house anymore besides going to work. This summer especially feels more hollow than most. College applications sent out, admission offers accepted and rejected, roommate contacted. Nothing left to do but bide my time, I guess. So I make plans, go on trips. But things don’t feel right. I’ll still check my school email out of habit. I’ll go to bed after working all day and then sit awake feeling like I’ve done nothing.
And it’s true, I have done nothing this summer. I’ve logged hundreds of hours on my favorite games but haven’t touched anything that would improve me as a person. I went into the long-awaited break from school with so many ideas of projects to start and complete before it came back around, but ultimately haven’t acted on any of those desires. I don’t know why I always feel the need to fill my plate with things to do that make me feel like I’m making some sort of progress in the grand scheme of things — I know deep down that we’re all going at our own pace, it seems every other motivational post I see on my feed regurgitates some form of that same idea — but it won’t stop me from overloading myself with ideas until I’m too paralyzed to actually accomplish anything anyway.
I guess I’m just waiting for the all too familiar panic of deadlines to force me into action like it has so many times before. The rising tide that both raises all boats, and brings threats of drowning. Except this time, instead of due dates, it’s a move-in date. God, I hate summer. Not because of the weather — I stayed inside all day today — but because there’s so much to do.
