Fall, or more-pleasing-to-the-ear, autumn, stands out amongst all other seasons. While others lament the cooling weather and darker days, I revel in the distinct scent of dead but colourful leaves that the trees in their haste to be ready for winter strew upon the ground. I enjoy the need to wear long-sleeved shirts and coats, for it means I no longer drip with unwanted sweat. I look forward to the days when darkness is greater than light; when the streetlights illuminate the falling snowflakes as if you were traveling through a starfield.
While I sponteneously will pick up a pile of leaves and through it into the air, Mr. Frazier stomps on acorns. I have to admit to doing the same on occasion, but without the gusto he describes. Maybe on my way home tonight I’ll seek out the acorns below and stomp out my frustrations. Instead of C-I-G-N-A, I’ll spell OP-AMP-INTEGRATOR.
For at least three years now I have seen the hullaboo of NaNoWriMo, the event where your goal is to write a novel, not necessarily good, during the month of November. I’ve tried once; I lasted approximately three days. Now, in the beginings of my graduate school career, and a month full of work ahead, would not be the time to try again.
So I looked with interest into WriAShorStorWe. Unfortunately, it’s supposed to happen this week, which also happens to be the week that NSF Graduate Research Fellowships are due, at least for psychology. So I’m going to push that back a week. And do it next week. And be the only one doing it next week. I’m going to be behind the times1.
1 That’s a rather strange to say, “I’m going to be behind the times.” I’m making a statement about my future state of not being current with the prevailing sentiment. And I’m saying this in what will be, when the time comes, the past. This seems like a bizarre thing to say and appears to be only valid when our sense of time moves much faster than we’re designed for.