Here's the 30-second summation of the past few weeks:
1) Went to Louisville to kick off my third semester in the MFA program.
2) Went to San Luis Obispo for Thanksgiving, where I learned how to ride a motorcycle, thanks to a patient lesson from my brother the pod person.
3) Sprained my ankle running the trail around the Rose Bowl—not badly enough to need crutches or anything, just enough to keep me from running for awhile. Grr.
In between and entwined with all of the above are the usual suspects for killing time in my life: piano practice, sleeping, writing, avoiding writing... you know the drill by now. (And if you don't, just browse through the archives.)
One thing I've been noticing lately is how much I really don't like winter. I know, I know... I live in California, what do I know about winter? Well, I may be a baby, but all I can say is, 65 degrees Fahrenheit is COLD. Yesterday I wore a turtleneck under a sweater under a fleece to work. Today I spent a fair amount of time when not actually proofreading hunched over my desk in a desperate approximation of the fetal position as a way to try to retain as much warmth as possible (which turned out to be not much).
Also, I hate that it gets dark at 5pm. Boo!
In short, I really really really miss summer. And I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I should have been a bear.