About this time every year, I write a post about how I am bad at Summer (2009, 2010, 2011). I have this kind of silly notion that Summer should be special and different and magical. I wrote a novel one Summer, so now I think I should do that every Summer. Plus I should travel a lot. And read everything. Maybe adopt a unicorn or something.
I have high expectations. Then I get bogged down by that full time job I have, and I seem to waste my evenings, and I don’t read as much as expected, and I remember that the Summer I wrote that novel was the only time I have been unemployed in the last 11 years.
But but but, I don’t care. I am going to hold onto my high expectations. I’m going to keep believing that Summer should be special and different and magical. I am going to try to create that for myself. And if I fail again, then I do, but I think I’d rather be the person with high expectations who is disappointed than the person with no expectations who doesn’t care.
Now, who do I see about a unicorn?