The following post originally appeared in The Careerist on September 1, 2010.

I've always found Labor Day weekend to be bittersweet. The air is crisper, and the skies take on a sharper blue. But it also signals the end of summer. I get teary just thinking about putting away my sandals and those Lilly Pulitzer dresses.

But I'm determined to savor the holiday this year. For starters, I'm vowing not to think about work during the weekend--not an easy feat these days, considering I can't even look at a piece of toast without thinking how I can blog about it for The Careerist.

To maximize what remains of the summer, I give you my do's and don'ts for the summer's end:

• Don't check your BlackBerry more than five times a day. And don't take it to the beach. Not only will it get sandy, but you risk looking like a nerd. There are few sights more pathetic than a lawyer standing in the surf, punching away at his (yes, it's gender-specific) BlackBerry.

• Do go to the farmer's stand, buy every summer fruit in sight, and make a dash to your blender. My peach daiquiris are scrumptious, if I do say so. It's simple: Toss cut-up ripe peaches into the blender, squeeze some fresh orange or lime juice on top, pour in rum (or vodka--it's less caloric), and lots of ice cubes--and pulverize.

• Do eat lobster, if you haven't already done so this summer. It doesn't matter whether you like it or not--it's a rite of summer.

• Don't read books on management, self-improvement or work/life balance. On the tippy-top of the no-no list: anything by Jack and Suzy Welch or Tony Robbins.

• Reread a favorite book from your adolescence. Mine is still Catcher in the Rye.

• Read poetry. Personally, I think all lawyers should read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." In a nutshell, it's the musings of a middle-aged man who's trapped in an inglorious life. I think T.S. Eliot might have written it with a lawyer in mind. In any case, it's a startlingly beautiful poem.  Just try the first stanza:

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

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