My birthday is over, stores are marking down their swimming gear and filling their shelves up with school supplies and the last summer issue of the Daily comes out Thursday.

Sad to say kids, but all the signs are pointing to another summer coming to a close all too quickly.

But, how can summer be over when it hasn’t really felt like it has started?

Until this year, the last weeks of summer were always a depressing occurrence for me.

Long days sitting in class and nights spent doing homework came as a sharp slap in the face after days spent playing Marco Polo and Stuck in the Mud at the pool. My feet, not used to anything but the mere constraints of flip flops, felt constricted in shoes for weeks. Somehow playing kickball at recess was just not as fulfilling when it was scheduled into my day.

Even the thrill of a new box set of 24 crayons and a new book bag (if my mom was feeling generous), did not really help to ease my disappointment.

I couldn’t help but feel like the camera my mom used to take the mandatory first-day-of-school pictures was capturing my summer-loving soul.

I distinctly remember refusing to smile before taking my third-grade picture, citing there was no point mustering up fake excitement for a day I clearly dreaded.

I’m sure I put it a little differently then, but clearly that was how I felt.

As traumatic as this yearly experience was — or at least as traumatic as I make it out to be — it was just that. An experience.

But somewhere between coming to college and working the equivalent of a full-time job, I’ve realized the devastating end-of-the-summer climax disappears along with the luxury of going to the pool every day and being allowed to wear flip flops.

Now I understand what my dad was complaining about all those years he’d come home and be upset with my brothers and me for spending a whole day watching cartoons instead of doing our chores.

Yes, dad. You were right. The day has finally come that I understand what you were talking about.

This school year isn’t going to be the climatic blow of previous years, but rather a continuation of what has already been happening. Class, work — eh, it’s all the same.

Sure, friends will be returning from distant locales. Seeing them will be like seeing the friends whose houses were too far away to bike to in the summertime.

Maybe the transition will be a little harder for them than mine will be.

Until then, I’m going to try to make it to the pool at least one more time.

Anyone up for a game of Marco Polo?