I thought that I had my entire summer all figured out. My plan was to make a summer bucket list that would be completely checked off before I was forced to return to school, and than write about it. I did not have any responsibilities, nothing waking me up at five in the morning, and this felt delightful.
A week had passed, and I only had a title for my summer bucket list. I was bored of freedom, so bored that I found myself documenting my life on Facebook. I spent my days sleeping, or watching the never-ending marathons of Spongebob.
Then, I got a phone call. The call revealed that my name was no longer on a waiting list, and that my summer was no longer unwritten. Was I disappointed? Slightly. Honestly, who wants to wake up early? But the feeling quickly disappeared when i realized that I would be spending the majority of my summer doing the one thing I adore, writing.
Maybe I’m not cut out for the world of journalism, or I’ll do better as a novelist. Maybe these six weeks will help me walk into my school with ideas for my Meager magazine that will transform it into a major publication. I don’t know what will come out of this. Who does? All I know is that my summer has been changed by a phone call, and I might as well make the best of it.