I shouldn’t let myself…

I shouldn't let myself journal when I'm not sober. Oh well.

I really did have a lovely time last night, and woke up hangover-free this morning, thank the gods. However, I had not even a smidgen of desire to grade papers. So I finished the first section of Jewel instead. Good stuff. Then I showered, taking a long time to get all the burnt stuff out of my hair. Did I mention that my hair caught on fire last night? I was wandering down a hallway and just happened to wave my hair over a little tea light candle on a ledge. Whoosh! Big sheet of flame, out in a sec, huge burning stink which everyone was very good about, and as far as I can tell, you can't tell any of it's gone now. The advantage of having masses of hair.

I'm going to read some more, I think, then walk to Borders. It's gorgeous today -- a crisp fall day, absolutely perfect for a long walk. You'd never guess that it was snowing yesterday. I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Snowing! Bizarre. One of the natives told me he'd lived here 25 years and never seen snow that early -- usually it first shows up around Halloween, which is more than a month away, y'know. It was sort of cool, but I'm very glad we're back to autumn weather. Fall had just started, and it's so lovely -- I would have been really annoyed to just skip it.

This kind of weather always makes me want to be back in New England. I'll be back for Thanksgiving to see the folks, but by then most of the leaves will have fallen. The perfect time is in about a month, just before Halloween. The hillsides are great blazing glories of color. I'd leave my parents' house and take a long walk up past the reservoir (vast pool of icy blue), climbing gently up the lower slope of Southington Mountain, up to Rogers' Orchard. I'd buy some maple candy (crystallized sugar that melts deliciously on your tongue like nothing else in the world) to take home, a hot cup of dark cider and a apple cinnamon doughnut to eat on the way back. I'd walk past the long rows of apple baskets, the honey sticks, the jars of homemade jam and jelly. I'd decide to get some fruit for my mother. I'd gather it all and walk back, sipping the cider slowly so as not to burn my mouth, munching on the fresh-made doughnut. And the air would be as crisp and clear as good white wine.

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