Summer

Next spring, when the summer timetable comes out, and I start talking about what session I want to teach, remind me that I do not want to teach any sessions. Remind me that even though my class can actually be about my research passion (way more hot and heavy than a research interest) that even though my students will be brilliant and talkative and able to help me see oft-read primary texts with fresh eyes, that even though the sessions are short, I DO NOT WANT to teach in the summer.

Because summers are for pancakes with faces and popsicles


and road trips where someone asks if he is there fifty nine hundred times and then passes out about the time you need to stop to pee.



Summer is for checking the cellulite on the back of your legs compulsively before loading up seven tote bags of stuff to go to the pool (only to get there, watch some kid crap in the water, and have the whole park close for the day while your preschooler asks repeatedly why someone pooped in the pool and maintains this line of questioning for 3 days at east).

It's for barbecues, Summer Shandy, ill-advised white jeans, and layers of sunscreen that you hope will make up for the years of baby oil and 8-hours days at the pool when you were a kid (not life guarding. just lounging. and charging lots of food and drinks for you and your friends on your parents' account.)

This summer? Is for BLOGHER!!! I am so exited, and I promise lots of pictures-- more than you want, even.