Well.....It’s finally almost here.

The scent of it teasing us with the faint wisp of woody, tinny pencil shavings; hope springs from perpetual despair with every sure-solid snap of a 3.99 plastic three-ring binder; and anticipation runs flush within the reflection of a set of see-thru dividers, a double pack of neon note cards and paper-thin protractors laid out like a three card brag.  

I’m hot.

         Temperature hot, that is.

         I’m a certified sticky, sweaty, frizzy, soaked mess.

         I go out with good intentions, but quickly crawl (not run) back in.

I loved Nancy Drew growing up.

     Adored her, actually.

      Why, you may ask? Well, who wouldn’t look up to a blue convertible-driving sixteen year old, recent high school grad and amateur sleuth who could single-handedly solve the greater mysteries of the universe with only a flashlight, intense studies in psychological behaviors, and a magnifying glass to guide her? Simply put, she was my hero.