It's the last week of summer. I'm already back at school. I'm cringing at textbook prices, questioning if I really want to be taking the credits that I am and trying to figure out when, exactly, I'm going to sleep this semester. I'm starting a new chapter in my life. Things are changing, like they always are. I'm saying goodbye to yet another summer.

I'll admit that I've never been the biggest fan of the summer. I hate the heat and I'd much rather be in school. But the end of summer is always bittersweet for me.

I'm excited, like I always am, to head back to school. When I was little, school supplies shopping was always my favorite thing. I still love the look and smell of a new notebook or box of crayons. I love walking into class on the first day. I love learning. I love connecting with new people and taking notes and having something to do with myself, even if that something is homework. I'm more than ready to start another year at a school that I love, with professors and classmates that are inspiring and talented in so many ways.

But, like I am every summer, I'm disappointed. There's so much that I said I would do with my time. I wanted to go to the beach. I wanted to dress up and go out with my friends from high school. I wanted to hear all about their new lives. I wanted to lie in the sun and read a book. I wanted to go to the lake with my family. Take up a new hobby. Take a road trip. Go on an adventure.

As usual, I spent my summer on the couch, re-watching The Officeand Friends for the sixth or seventh time.

Admittedly, The Office and Friends are both wonderful ways to spend time, but they aren't things that I'm excited about. I didn't see any of my friends from high school this summer. I read maybe two books. I didn't take up a new hobby or go on a road trip. I went swimming once.

In my house, summer is always busy. We always over-book ourselves, so when it finally ends, we look back and things are a blur. I've always hated that. I've always wanted summer to be some big, monumental, exciting thing. But summer isn't like that. I've romanticized the idea so much that I am left feeling disappointed in myself for not taking advantage of a season. That's stupid.

I know, no matter what, that I'll be regretting how I wasted my summer again next year. And the year after that. I'll be surprised if I don't think so for the rest of my life. I will always romanticize summer. It will always seem like there is some sort of unattainable ideal surrounding it. Like there's some sort of glow emanating from the very idea of bonfires, road trips, and beaches. I want those things to be real to me. I always will.

I'm going back to school this year missing a summer I never had. I hope someday I might miss one that I've gotten to experience.