Wednesday, November 17

I keep a daily organizer. I do. So sue me.

Oh, the joy of feeling clean and warm and thoroughly caffeinated. Fireplaces in the fall, leaves blustering about merrily, and the cats wanting to run in and out, very annoyed when the tips of their tails get a little too chilly for respectable feline taste.

Today we will be focusing on the beginning of Mrs. Dalloway, the very end of The Awakening, and an overview of medieval English prose. Hands and knees will smell like woodsmoke and the dirt from outside by the woodpile from trying desperately to keep fire in fireplace going at a rate that will keep the house warm. Bobby pins in hair will slowly and irresponsibly tumble down into absolute uselessness as day progresses.

Fingertips will remain cold until the afternoon when tea is taken very hot in large mug which fingertips will cling to. Well, it is either that or the fingertips get held to the fire while laughing maliciously at the thought of a post on the genealogy of Arthur and whether or not he had any sons.

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