I love seasons changing. Suddenly your wardrobe shifts and your days feel different and you have intense desires to eat nothing but soup. You suddenly want to drink way more tea and cocoa than should be allowed and write long thoughtful novels and shut yourself in your room with an imaginary fireplace.
I’m home alone right now, and the chilly late September air is blowing in through the window, turning me from a sock-hater to a sock-lover. I’m curled up under a sleeping bag, simultaneously working on a paper, a creative writing thing, and watching Gilmore Girls. (Do I even need to write that down anymore? I’m always watching Gilmore Girls. It’s pathetic, but it’s better than drugs, I guess.) The air is brisk enough to seep through my sweater but not potent enough to get to my toes under the layers of socks and sleeping bags. I can’t wait. CAN’T WAIT. Next week begins my absolute favorite month of the year. It always passes by too quickly, like a car driving by so fast you can’t catch what was written on it’s bright pink bumper sticker.
READ something by Francesca Lia Block, if you haven’t. I think she’s brilliant.
Number of pages of Russian literature read this year: 370
Episode of Gilmore Girls (on my re-watch of the whole series): 3. 12
love, Princess B.