The orchid I am trying to coax into blooming again.
My little study (a room of my own) is the only thing that's keeping me sane right now. At the end of every long day, all I want to do is retreat in here with my textbooks and a cup of tea. Particularly when the weather's been so dismal, as it has been all month.
Registered for classes today for the last time. That was terrifying and sad, but I'm very pleased with what I'll be taking: Diversity in Communication; Place, Space, and Time in Religious Artifacts; Russian Short Stories; and Writing a Thesis about a Topic within Woolf that Remains Woefully Undecided.
In that vein, I am beginning to think I am not smart (or, at least, analytically minded) enough to write an honors thesis. It's a little late to be figuring that out.
Because I hate Hallowe'en, I'm not going to dress up. I will go on Franklin Street for 15 minutes, tops, as I decided with Emily. If I do dress up, I'm going to put on a flannel shirt and call myself Annie Dillard. I've always wanted to go as an obscure female author that no one would recognize.
I feel disoriented this week, but seeing red and yellow leaves splattered on the sidewalk make me brighter.