Sheets rapidly flying off a calendar

I look at the calendar on the wall and sigh. It is June 14, and tomorrow it will be June 15, and that means June is half over. It is not much of a stretch for me to imagine that June being half over is the same as summer being half over, or indeed that summer is all but over. Summer is gone! And I never even made it to the beach!

Crazy thoughts, I know. Summer actually has not yet begun, at least as the calendar goes. Indeed, exciting pagan bonfires are still being planned all over the city to celebrate the first day of summer, which is next week. But at work today we were talking about articles that will run in July, and it felt like we might as well have been talking about articles that will run in November. July?! June has not even begun! On second thought, it has.

These feelings clearly got wired in me when I was a kid. I liked school just fine, but I loved summer unequivocally. All that unstructured time meant long days at the pool, stickball till dusk and -- of course -- lots of daytime television. I dreaded fall, which brought with it the return of structured time, regimentation, imprisonment.

And dread is what I'm feeling now. The pleasant days of early summer fill me with dread, because I know they won't last. What if, once summer is over, I have nothing to show for it? What if I never have anything to show for anything?

Breathe, Kenneth. Enjoy the day. Stickball, anyone?