This Isn't That Summer

The summer of 2002 is possibly *the* summer, I realize, that I keep returning to, especially when I can't recall a time when I was more optimistic. It was the summer after graduation -- I was jobless and thus worried. I had moved back at my folks, but had nonetheless paid three months worth of rent for a room in an apartment that I didn't occupy. I had spent six months of simple leisure reading, mostly in bed; it was lovely, really. It was that summer when I discovered John Cheever. The first line of "The Swimmer" has got to be one of my favorites: "It was one of those mid-summer Sundays when everyone sits around saying, 'I drank too much last night'" (603).

But this isn't that kind of summer -- and probably not for a long, long time. So the only real goal I have this summer is the re-reading and revising of an old paper (temping aside). I need to massage my paper in to a solid 20 (25?) paged paper. At the moment it is at 15 pages, but it's so not in good shape, needs LOTS of editing and footnotes. I need to modify the old argument and restructure the entire blasted thing. So while this isn't the summer of reading, I certainly hope it will turn out to be the summer of writing. Plus, former-prof will be reading it so I have some motivation to get this going. Gotta love profs who offer services during the summer, that's for sure. So that's the current plan.

Otherwise, movers come this friday to put my stuff in storage while I stay at a sublet pad. Then on Saturday old college friend arrives and the real apt search begins. We have one amazing prospect that I am really excited about, so let's hope we get it!