I absolutely cannot

wait for school to be over. You have no idea. You think you want to be out as badly as I do. You don't.

Instead of doing stuff now, I'm going to make a list of things I want to do this summer. No promises I'll actually do any of them.

1) Read books. Read lots of books.
2) Write at least one short story.
3) Improve my poetry skillz.
4) Improve my sketching skillz.
5) Study Roman/Greek mythology (sit in on class?).
6) Sleep
7) Research a lot a lot.
8) Take the bus to D.C.
9) Watch Parks and Recreation.

That's all I can think of right now.

This poem is happy.

Happiness
 

So early it's still almost dark out.

I'm near the window with coffee,

and the usual early morning stuff

that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend

walking up the road

to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,

and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.

They are so happy

they aren't saying anything, these boys.

I think if they could, they would take

each other's arm.

It's early in the morning,

and they are doing this thing together.

They come on, slowly.

The sky is taking on light,

though the moon still hangs pale over the water.

Such beauty that for a minute

death and ambition, even love,

doesn't enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on

unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,

any early morning talk about it.


-Raymond Carver