Before anyone starts hating and emailing me that they wished they had my dilemma, I should remind all that the downside of having nothing to do is that I also have no salary coming in, other than one online summer course, until the middle of September as well. So my favored option of how to spend the summer (sipping coffees in a little cafe near the edge of the Grand Canal in Venice) is not exactly an option. I did have the foresight to watch my money all year so that I could make it through the summer, but I might not have watched closely enough, so it will be a stretch.
I think the last summer I had "off" was either in high school or college. I don't do extended downtime well. Now, though, I'm tired. I've given a lot to my students since August, and I need some sort of me time. I didn't have a job last summer either, but that was a blur of moving from the city to the burbs and then realizing that this boy who had been a cheerful weekend respite for two years was now my landlord and there.... all the time. It was great (and still is), but it wasn't a restful time. When two thirty-somethings move in together, that's a LOT of compromise, and the process isn't always seamless. A year later, we're still negotiating whether my shampoo actually has to be in the shower all the time and just how gross it is to shave our head in the bathroom sink. My votes, by the way, are "yes, it is" and "quite."
All in all, though, the move was a good one for many reasons, and it is also the reason I don't have to find yet another 50-60 hour a week summer thing to tide me over and wear me out until the fall begins. I have half the debt I had when I made this move, and far more spacious and homey surroundings in which to do whatever I choose to do.
Which leaves me relatively poor and with a lot of time on my hands. I guess it's time for introspection (which is what you have to do when you want to grow and you don't have enough money to travel).
I have always fancied that I know myself pretty well -- I have no illusions about the things I'm good at. I think I'm still pretty happy because, unlike many people I know, I do not let my natural ability or lack thereof influence my enthusiasm about projects. It's why I have vegetable plants even though the odds don't look good and why I don't own a gun even though a summer at a summer camp sharing counseling duties with the riflery counselor proved I am a wicked good shot. There is no relationship between my activities and my natural inclinations towards them. Still, our self-picture needn't be constructed wholly by regal decree, and others may have a more accurate picture of certain parts of who I am than I.
People like to give me books. On one hand it makes sense; I read a LOT, and I think sometimes (as in the case of students) some seek out my opinion or seek to find some sort of acknowledgment of their taste by garnering my agreement that something they found inspiring or artful actually was. Those newer to the reading game sometimes feel that, because I read so much, I must know what I'm doing. I don't necessarily agree -- if I knew so much, would I actually have waited with bated breath for the library to find me a copy of their book on goose livers and the surrounding wars? Would I own a copy of New Moon? I think not.
Still others are from people who read something that reminds them of me and my sensibilities. I'm embarrassed to say that, while I give books as gifts all the time (and expect people to read them!) I have fallen WAY behind on that front. I'm not a snooty academic; I'm just a person who goes to the bookstore and the library way too often and quite often gets excited by something shiny (like an interesting title). I forget old authors I loved or books from people I admire. The new stuff gets thrown on the old stuff and the old stuff gets older, unread.
Anyway, I combined my desire to have something to do (yesterday, I organized my bathroom closet -- everything is categorized and placed neatly into reed baskets with cloth lining that matches my towels..... ) and Gerry's desire to have a more organized home, and I pulled out every book from every nook and cranny that I have not yet read. Here they are. My spokesmodel, Bubba, kindly allowed me to use his bedroom as their temporary resting place.
The library books are first and then the ones people have gotten for me because they thought I would like them. I bet I find more as time goes on. As per an unspoken agreement with Gerry, every book I finish that is mine then gets to find a good home with someone else, free of charge.
Just let me know you want it, and it's yours. Here's my starting place:
Just Finished: The Other Preacher in Lynchburg: My Life Across Town from Jerry Falwell by John Killinger.
Analysis: Effing awesome! Easy to read and fascinating. Made it through in less than 24 hours!
Just started Non-Fiction: Not Everyone Gets a Trophy: How to Manage Generation Y by Bruce Tulgan
Analysis: Am one chapter in -- not much to say other than the portrayal of Gen Y sounds familiar.
Just Started Fiction: Miss Julia Paints the Town by Ann B. Ross
Analysis: Haven't actually started it, but the Miss Julia series is one of my simple pleasures. Funnily reminiscent of little old ladies I knew growing up. A non-consequential, but enjoyable series. For when I'm pissed at Gen Y in my other book.
***Please excuse the weird formatting -- I seem to be having a miscommunication with blogger, and I give up!
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