endless summerish

Even though you hear about Labor Day signaling the end of summer, and all that, you have to wonder: is it? Oh, sure, Labor Day is the end of summer in the sense of "let's get back to work again" and "school is back in session" and that sort of thing. On that note, a few comments: first, in the borderless landscape of constant work tied to constant digital access, not so much. The crossing over from vacation to work to vacation requires no moral passport anymore, which is a shame. As for myself, the Labor Day As International Dateline Between Fun-Lovin' Summer and Work Drudgery simply does not exist. I'm delighted to have very little anxiety concerning post-Labor Tuesday. It's simply tomorrow. And as for the "back to school" theme, ditto. I'm glad to have jettisoned, via age and circumstance, the dread that would accompany the first day of school, both as a student and as a teacher. I don't miss it. But, to "be-Labor Day" the obvious, simulacra of these anxieties continue to wait in the wings of my quotidian fears. I can let these anxieties assault me if I choose. (Do I truly have a choice? Some say yes, some say no.) Or if I feel assaulted by these nervous apprehensions, I can face them or ignore them, embrace them or fight them. Or, to continue this endless summerish wave of speculation, I can surf them, ride them -- savoring the saltspray and the speed and the danger and the whatever else.