I didn't go to the ocean. Not to make a bad pun, but that is unfathomable. I grew up spending big chunks of summer in Rhode Island, at my grandparents' house. Pretty much my favorite place, ever. Boo.
I didn't go to the MN State Fair. That feeling is mostly relief, but just thinking about it makes me hungry and I'll likely never get this post done if I go down that on-a-stick spiral.
I didn't go camping. Not once. I have mixed feelings about this. I like the road trips and the gear. I don't like washing dishes in the dark. I also don't like lying awake at 3 AM, wondering if it's a snake, a raccoon or a blueberry-deprived bear that is rustling outside the tent.
I didn't make any kind of jam or jelly, or pick my own strawberries or raspberries. I see my future laid out before me in Smucker's jars. With a name like Smucker's...that tagline never made sense to me.
I didn't get a sunburn, not once that I can think of. Hurray for having a full-time office job through 8/15! It does have its perks. I suppose.
Why didn't I kill it? I guess because it was the summer of things I didn't do.