For the first month (and a half...ish) of summer, my laptop has remained closed, more often than not. It feels like I haven't written anything in ages.Without any assignments to turn in, I have not opened a Google document in a hot minute. When I have picked up a pencil, it has usually been for the purposes of annotating a book or writing myself a reminder on a notepad. I have tried and failed to keep a notebook to jot down thoughts or things I witness.
I leave for England tomorrow (what) and I look forward to even the class + schoolwork parts of the trip. I'll have things to get done! I'll be productive!
But throughout the first phase of my summer, I haven't been sitting around all day, even though the lack of motivation and productivity can feel discouraging sometimes. I've been reading, reading a lot - I've finished 5 of Jane Austen's major novels and tonight I'll start the 6th. I've been driving and walking around Pennsylvania, reuniting with people I hadn't seen in a bit, or impulsively calling them in the meantime. I've been scooping ice cream at the local place I have known inside and out since I was sixteen. I went to my new college house, drove over 600 miles in a few days, saw the people and places I had been missing (you can't keep me out of Massachusetts for too long). I have baked my grandma's banana bars and classic chocolate chip cookies. I have sang, a lot, as usual (Sabrina Carpenter's recent hits won't leave my head) and listened to music, lots of music. I certainly could have written about these things, but I have been caught up in living them. Gathering things to write about.
And I have written letters. Shopping lists. Reminders on post-it notes. Annotations in my books.
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