Every summer as a kid, I would spend my days reading–no, consuming–books. That probably explains why I’m so incredibly nonathletic and somewhat squishy, but that’s beside the point. I loved reading, and my mental arsenal of great literature was greater than that of my peers. It was a nice feeling to have.
Since I was sixteen, however, I spent my summers working nearly full-time, and I grew too busy and tired to even crack open a simple magazine. My passion for books came to a halt.
Now I’m home from college and unemployed. (My job sucked. I quit. Moving on.) I’ve applied to over a dozen places but no one has called me back, which I admit is a little disheartening, but at the same time, I’m starting to embrace it. Maybe I can spend this summer relaxing for once, something I haven’t done in quite a long time. My tax return came in the mail, so I have enough money to hold me over for the summer, and I plan to get a job in the fall when I’m back on campus.
I think I’m going to read for fun again. I’m not yet sure what I want on my summer reading list, however. Continue reading