(Generic Title Alert) How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Well, here we are, patient readers of Forever Got Shorter; it's the beginning of the end of a hot and humid New England summer, and a perfect time for reflection.

This summer I worked two jobs, went to the beach a total of zero times, and lost two pairs of sunglasses. I went on one (minor) road trip, saw The Flaming Lips twice, and lost my cell phone in a Porta Potty. I sunk almost 1,000 dollars into my 1997 Subaru, bought a new sundress, and have likely ingested an overall total of three bottles of gin. Maybe more.

So, to summerize (ha) in terms of Have's and Have Not's, you could say I'm up by one sundress but down by two pairs of sunglasses, at least one thousand dollars and a cell phone. That doesn't sound so hot. However, on the up side of things, the memories of the in-between parts are sweet like a Hendrick's and tonic with a slice of cucumber floating in it, and that's just delicious.

I worked hard and played harder this summer. I made new friends and went to new places and only got one sunburn. (Hear that, Dr. Dermatologist? Eh? Aren't you proud of my and my pale self?) I wore a flower in my hair every day and settled on a new tattoo design. (Okay, Dr. Dermatologist, I know you're not a fan of my tattoos, and I did promise I wasn't going to get anymore... why don't you go read the part about only one sunburn again. Get happy. Baby steps.)

This moment of reflection is all based upon the fact that it's nearly August. August. Where does the time go? I'm nearly positive that it was just yesterday that I was miserably sweating to death while waitressing during Summerfest New Bedford 2010 which, once again, was ruining my Fourth of July.

Now, no offense intended to the actual Summerfest event, but you must understand that if every year for six years you were asked to work twelve hours a day for three consecutive days, spending the entire time on your feet and serving non-stop the masses of sock-and-sandal-wearing, fannie-pack-toting, tie-dye-covered folk music freaks - er, fans - that flood the streets of Downtown New Bedford every year during the Fourth of July weekend, you'd be a bit bitter, too. Here's a test: Raise your hand if you like fireworks. Raise your hand if you like to go see them on the Fourth of July. Raise your hand if you haven't seen Fourth of July fireworks in six years. Oh, gee, and I'm the only one raising my hand. Hm. Okay. I'm going to the bad place. Deep breaths... Get your zen on, Katie... Okay. Better.

Commence rant.

So, yes, here we are... August. In one month, Reality will shake me awake from this deep, humid slumber and say "Finish your thesis, graduate from school, and get acclimated to the Real World, you silly, silly girl. Oh yeah, and take that flower out of your hair. Nobody will hire you or take you seriously with that thing in there."

The goal is to enjoy August with the intensity of a Death Row Prisoner eating a last meal. Savor some bites and shove others in with a quickness. Memorize the motion of enjoyment. Mix it up, get messy, and don't forget to take some intermittent slow, deep breaths so I don't choke.

It's all going to be gone quickly... the summer, the notion that I'm still young and can enjoy the summer with the voracity with which I intend to... it's all going to fade away and give way to bright autumnal colors, a thesis, a website, and an academic agenda.

Here we go, kids. Buckle up.