This time next week I’ll be on a plane to Dusseldorf, and if I’m lucky, sleeping. It’s too bad I can’t bring a rum runner past secretly because I can’t not sleep after one of those, I have learned. One of the many great things about no longer really living in South Jersey is that whatever shame I used to have is gone now that the probability of seeing any of these random strangers ever again is even further reduced. So I was not embarrassed that after only one rum runner (consumed with food no less) Katie and I had to make an unplanned visit to the Brigantine beach so that I could pass out on the sand for a whole hour. Or that I stripped off my leggings in front of everyone, because who wears leggings to the beach? I don’t even care how many people saw my underwear while I was passed out because I don’t see how anyone could have known that they weren’t bikini bottoms. And if anyone was enough of an undergarment expert to notice the difference and then get offended, je m’en fiche. This is my typical thought process these days.

I’m coming to terms with the end of the summer, which is I guess officially today according to most social calendars. For some reason when talking about Labor Day I always accidentally say Memorial Day. I know people know what I mean, but they’ll still smugly correct me. “That’s in May, dear.” Well so is Labor Day in every other country in the world. Anyway. Nights are getting longer and colder. Out pool is freezing but I’m still going to go in every day until it’s covered because there may not be many more pool opportunities for a while. The ocean water was just too cold to be in this weekend. I was really looking forward to jumping in the waves, but there will be more summers I guess.

And I’ve a got a good feeling about the interim between now and the next real beach day. I can’t remember the last whole year I wasn’t in school because that was also a year I was still in diapers. But I think I’m going to like a more focused routine. My goals are the same as they’ve always been: make money, speak more languages, write a book. I suppose a college degree was  prerequisite, but now that that chapter’s over I can admit that writing papers about the image of Joan of Arc in each century or whatever the hell I was doing this last year was kind of a waste of my precious time. This year time will be wasting no more. I’ll drink to that.