summer

No season feels as short as summer. It's still how I measure every passing year, understandably enough, since until this move to Portland, my life had always been governed by the school schedule, either as student, teacher, or transient AmeriCorps volunteer on a one year contract.

To compound this feeling of foreboding that comes with the end of summer, I've recently switched to a three day work week. I know your immediate reaction is hot green jealousy, but if you only saw my paychecks, I'm sure some of you would mistake it for your monthly credit card payment. So this week, I've had a four day weekend, a tremendous amount of time off especially when compared to the schedule i kept during the summer (some weeks working 70 hours) and going back to work tomorrow feels like the end of a summer vacation that never existed.

I even have the nervousness of a kid on the eve of the first day of school, except I'm 27 and going to the same job I've been to for the last seven months. Appropriately enough, though, i just developed a large zit on my forehead. Maybe Northwest airlines will even decided to have picture day tomorrow.

Anyway, August always feels like the end of something to me, slightly melancholy because it marks the last chance for any summertime hopes to come true, and the acceptance that, well, maybe it'll have to wait to next year. It's a much more introspective time for me than New Year's and so, let's take a moment to assess this first summer in Portland...

1. Worked like a dog. Didn't know how to say no when people asked me to cover for them. Rationalized it in my head that if I take a day for them, of course they'll return the favor. Turns out, other people know how to say NO much better than I do.
2. Had a summer crush. Brief and innocent; it didn't turn into anything real, but I was happy for what it was and unconcerned by what it could not be. She held my arm when we walked across the street. That might have been the highlight of the entire summer.
3. Ate my first marionberry. They look like big ass blackberries entangled in a mesh of thorny vines. You know how when you're trying to break into a lobster and you tell yourself, don't worry, all this work and the minor cuts will be so worth it? Didn't feel the same about reaching my hands through thorns for a sour marionberry.
4. House-sat for my buddy Laurilyn again. You may remember her as the person whose car I destroyed last time I house-sat for her. Yes, she's a very forgiving person and was willing to give me second chance. No, I didn't destroy anything this time. The worst thing that happened this second time: I mistook rizotto for rice. Stir fried vegetables over Rizotto is not going to make it on any fusion restaurant's menu, at least not the way I made it.

So that's it. Soon we'll be breaking out the hoodies and the sun lamps to help stave of seasonal affect disorder. Soon enough, we'll be facing eight months of perpetually wet socks. Goodbye summer, for now. Let's do it again next year. Here's a song for the summer that, coincidentally, is called "The Summer Song."