October brings about a refreshing change in the weather. The gorgeous but short-lived autumn is just about beginning, and the grounds are already lightly dusted with golden leaves. I love it when the leaves hang precariously on its branches and they all fall down together when a strong gust of wind blows by. Perfect time to pretend your life is a music video. The fifth week of school has unceremoniously and unbecomingly thrown itself upon us. Gone are the days where I can sit before a computer and watch True Blood for 5 hours. I still do it, of course, but now I have to consciously push away that little nagging voice in the back of my mind that specializes in guilt-tripping me.
Living directly on State Street is wonderful. I have the view of the lake to the left of my window, while State is directly beneath me, on the right. Cracking open the soundproof windows lets in the delightful shrieks of squabbling drunk couples, and I often let the sound of dysfunctional romance cradle me to sleep. Urban Outfitters, my main supplier of textile addiction, is directly beneath my building. Just living above all those beautiful clothes makes me feel prettier. If I can't afford it, I can at least absorb its soft fabric-ky spirit as it wafts upstairs.
Romanticize snow however much you want, I am not falling for it. People who adore snow are people who have never spent a winter in the Midwest. I most certainly do not look forward to the deathly slippery ice that solidifies on the pavements, nor the pelting of ice pellets on my face. Memories of last year's many blizzards maintain frozen in the deep chasms of my fearful mind. Running (and slipping) home in 4-foot-deep snow in the dead of night while the icy wind rips your soul apart is a must-try for faker-snow-enthusiasts. We'll see how much you love snow when it's fucking you up the ass with a 14-inch strap-on. Some make wishes when they see the first snowflake of the season; I pray that it's a particularly large dandruff drifting off someone's head. And don't give me that bullshit about how it gives you a chance to layer up on clothes. You dress up in fall for style, you dress up in winter to avoid death. Big, big difference.
I finally managed to get a hold of The Little Prince. It's a book I've always wanted to read, and have been reading excerpts of it since young, but have somehow never read it in its entirety. I bought a hardcover copy off of Amazon, and devoured it in one sitting. Ever since I got a Kindle, this is one of the first instances where I actually bought a book instead of downloading it. The thing that makes The Little Prince so special is its many illustrations, which would completely be lost in a Kindle. It's intended as a children's book, sure, but there were so many allusions to the grown-up society that it's clear that this book is more of a satire of adult behavior. Through the innocent yet deeply mature eyes of the little prince, we explore the ridiculous nature of grown-up behavior. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but the author's description of how he cradled the soft, fragile, beautiful, sparkly, golden twink borders of pedophiliac. Tell me I'm not the only one who saw that.
To the pagans, October symbolizes the last month of a year, with the 31st, Samhain, heralded as the Celtic new year. It is the celebration of darkness, where the loved ones who have departed are remembered and honored. Divination for the coming year is naturally done on that day, for when else would you read your tarot cards other than the day where the boundaries between the spirit and living world dissolves? Common sense, I say. To the layman American, whose Christian ancestors interpreted Samhain as Halloween, that would be they day they dress up to 'blend in' with the spirits. The frat would be having our annual pumpkin-carving party, and for my costume this year I intend to recreate the Warblers' uniform from Glee. I considered being Luke Skywalker, but decided I rather spend money on something I can wear for the rest of the year.
Besides, I dreamt that I was rowing a boat with Darren Criss so it has gotta be a sign, right?
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