I never went to sleepaway camp, but I suspect I would've loved it. As someone who can be anxious about being underprepared and far from home, I appreciate the feeling of constant productivity with the stakes of friendship bracelets and s'mores. I like my brain to be on low hum.
For the past year, I've been jumping into all the activities that grad school presents, which means I've been alternately elated and stretched thin: free classes, teaching, extracurriculars, constant company, and the freshman 15 (again).
This summer, I'm lucky and get to sit at home. I have an internship at the contemporary art museum. I get to travel and write. I get to cook, garden, and sew. And because even in Minnesota it doesn't snow (too far) into summer, I get to go outside.
So even though all I've written is really terrible poetry, I'm not mad at myself. Because I have time to look at things again, and slow down, and take note.