There is a kind of lethargy that is only prevalent amongst people who are belong to the academic space. Some of us experience this lethargy in the temporary form—the post-examination lull, the post-semester emptiness etc. For some of us who have existed in this sphere for a while, the summer malaise is something that is a constant. I have felt, for the last nine years at least, that I should be doing more during summer and yet, every summer passes without much of a dent on my reading list.
Perhaps this is only heightened by the lull that the end of an era makes you feel. Since I defended my thesis in the beginning of summer, I have gone into phases of complete tiredness and complete euphoria. For the first time in years, I told a few friends, I have no exam in sight. And for the first time, this summer malaise is an eternity of tediousness.
Not that I am not doing things: I have been grading, working on projects, and writing (a bit) but this has been a kind of summer where I have spent most of my time wondering if this is the peak of adulthood: this portioning of time where I am not sure of the value of time that I am keeping for reading, writing, etc. The external validation of semester grades and exams that has regulated time for me for so long (since 1996, to be exact) has ceased and I am here: reading the news, getting all kinds of insurance, and trying to see the rates of insurance and investments. This summer malaise has an recuperative effect usually. But this time, it has seemed like a different thing. An unending horizon of time which, both limited and daunting in its unendedness, is the canvas of the every day.