WHEN

My last exam of the semester, the year, concludes at 4PM on Thursday, May 8th. After that I am free as speech. School shall reconvene around the 1st of September if I choose to join it. In the middle there are 115 days, which are mine.

That’s the most of the boundary conditions which will bind me. One hundred and fifteen days with everything to do. One hundred and fifteen days with nothing to do at all.

My rent shall be paid for the duration. My stipend for living expenses shall amount to about fifty dollars per week. Anything beyond that is to come out of my savings. Which is plentiful, but not plenipotent. Allowing me to do much of anything, but not allowing me to do nothing – the best of circumstances, I might say.

I am in good health. Sound mind and body. I have a computer, and a portable computer. I have a car. I have a bicycle. I have a passport. I have a phone with 4G and GPS.

If that isn’t spoiled for choice…

This is not the first time I’ve had a block of time before me. One might think it my stock in trade. I’ve had every summer more or less off since I started school. In Boston I may have been often well employed but it was all self-directed – what’s the difference? I cannot *stand* to be idle. I am always filling my time.

My first summer-vacation I wrote a novel. The same my second though sixth. That is what I did. Biked a bit during the day, and hiked, and read and read. Mid-afternoon through nightfall, wrote. That’s what I did.

I do that, more than anything else, because I can do it alone. Alone is all I have. I do it because it’s productive. At least, it has the potential to be. One day published. At least to know I’ve done it, made a Thing. Practice, practice. It’s what I have.

(For a few years now I have not felt much like writing. One nice thing about being in law school: bikes and books, now, I want like nothing else.)

What is being proposed herein is hardly an adjustment to this pattern of summers. It’s a prioritization of the biking, but mostly this shall serve to increase the intensity with which I pursue it. I won’t be wasting – spending not-writing – many more hours of the day than I would be otherwise. Hell, if I bike eight hours a day, that’s still eight hours I’ll have to fill. That’s a lot of writing. Or of doing whatever the hell else I want to do.

If I stayed at home it would be sixteen hours a day instead of eight.

I think I’d prefer the eight.

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