Officially, it's not even summer yet. Seriously, look at the calendar. I'll wait...
See? The official start is something like a week off, and yet it's hotter than the dickens outside in my part of the world. Well, it's not that bad, really. But it's pretty humid-y at times.
I feel like this is my "First World/White People Problems" post, but I just don't know what to do with myself and haven't for about a month. School let out before May started, and I still have a couple of weeks before my summer class starts. In the meantime...
Bupkus.
I was hoping that all the time off would lead me to write short stories of amazing depth and skill that the literary world would have to take notice. Or at least write enough to fill out my prospective thesis-thingy which I will be hoping to turn in at the end of my grad-school journey.
But I've started a couple of things, have yet to finish them...which is fine. Really. I have plenty of time for that nonsense. Right?
At any rate, if you know me you know that this is a rare thing for me, to have so much time off (and indeed, besides the class I'm taking later, it's not time off that's ending anytime soon). I should be able to enjoy it. Hell, I've earned it. But...
Like I said, this is my "First World Problems" post: I've dithered about getting a job this summer, I could always do that. Also, I have been writing...just, it's non-fiction stuff that I've done in the hopes of placing said things with websites or magazines in the not-too-distant future. I guess I just like complaining too much to enjoy the breather.
And it *has* been nice to have a breather, don't get me wrong. I've been reading for fun (as well as reading towards an eye of adding some of the stuff as "inspiration" for my eventual thesis). Yesterday I spent about three hours in my uncle's pool, trying to soak up the sun while my cousin and niece splashed around me and called me "bad paddle cake" or "bad funnel cake" (derived from a day when they pretended to stomp me when I was laying down on the floor, calling me a paddle cake or funnel cake for whatever reason it is that a seven-year-old and a four-year-old come up with such nicknames). Today I have spent about four hours online. And when I get home, I'm going to get my William Styron on.
I checked out a book which collected some of Norman Mailer's letters recently and, while I didn't get far into the book, I did pick up on Mailer's enthusiasm for Styron's first novel, Lie Down in Darkness. I have that book, along with The Confessions of Nat Turner, and yesterday I picked up The Long March. I think it was well over a year ago that I read Sophie's Choice and thought "man, this guy is a great fucking writer!" I just haven't made time for his stuff since. Having read through the complete works of Charles Portis and a good chunk of Walker Percy, it seems only fitting to try and read some of my way through Styron's work. It may not have any influence on my thesis in the end, but that's not the only reason to read things.
Though it's a *good* reason...
Anyway, my legs and feet are starting to be sore at the end of the day, which means I should probably invest in some new shoes (I've had the pair that I wear regularly since about 2013, so probably time to get some newer ones). Network TV is summer reruns, I'm planning to keep up with The Daily Show up until Jon Stewart leaves but other than that it's Bar Rescue reruns and maybe a baseball game or two.
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