The Last One

I seem to unconsciously follow a pattern every year, one that I truly doubt will change in the near future. 

Every year, at the last week of school, the beginning of summer, I feel abnormally happy. There is so much optimism, so many expectations, so many hopes, that this summer will be THE one where I do something more humanitarian than vegetating in front of the television.

Every year, I am disappointed.

I have read Tuesday With Morrie, once in Religion class, and two hundred times on my own time, usually when I have those moments where I need something, anything, remotely inspirational and seize-the-day-ish. As I said, I have read Tuesday With Morrie a lot, and what I learn and re-learn every time is that one should always live everyday as if it's the last. Or something to that effect. But somehow, I  can never seem to wake up every morning with a fresh smile on my face, saying, "This day will be the day I  do something good." Instead,  I wake up looking like something that was once roadkill. 

I go about my day procrastinating, taking everyday for granted, like those universally ignored pamphlets that show up in the mail. And have I said that this is during the school year? Now that school is over, I fear that my habit, no, my vice, will be worse.

Instead of helping build clinics in Ghana, and using my time to help other people, I'm afraid this summer will be spent watching re-runs of Sex & the City, watching Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte sip their poisons and have anonymous, hilarious sex with hunky nameless guys.

Maybe it's the naivete of youth, but I am a lil' hopeful that this summer will be the last one where I take my life for granted. 

If not, I shall go to rehab.