Thirteen Days of Summer

So, I have to go back to college in two weeks, putting an end to my nice, long summer.  Or, on the other hand, I get to go back to college in two weeks, finishing off my nice, long summer.  See how different those are?  Oh, you don’t care.  Maybe you will when you have to write an essay in a few weeks.

But it feels like I’m being pulled toward a black hole and I just crossed the event horizon yesterday, when I realized I only have one full Sunday left to hang out with little kids before I go.  I had planned on having two more, but then some fool decided to have us go back to school on a Sunday, with classes starting on Monday.  Why’d they have to go and cut up the most important day of the week?

 

It’s really sad. 

And now it feels like everything I do with the rest of my thirteen days of summer (could be the title of a great short film) will be overshadowed by going back to school.  The whole process looks something like this:

 

Poorly drawn? 

And I think this is something everyone going back to school or work or college or the icy rings of Jupiter feels, although they don’t see it as such a draining thing.  They look forward to it.  And it’s not as though I’m really dreading school: I, too, am excited about going back; but it’s always such a choice to make.  People who leave their lives behind for business or missionary work or extended steamy affairs in Brazil know what I’m talking about. 

I should just go home every Sunday.  Six hours in the car isn’t too much, right?