It's snowing. Big fat flakes of snow; my students are going to be delighted -- I'm assuming quite a few of them won't show up. You have to expect that during ski season in Utah. I'm not feeling so happy about it. The tree in front of my window, that gorgeous yellow tree, has lost almost all of its leaves, and the few that still cling are not happy -- they're picking up a crust of snow, and you can just tell that they should have given up and gone to their rest days ago. Stupid leaves.
I want to take a pile of children's books, a mug of hot chocolate, and go curl up under blankets with happy music on and the curtains closed. What's scary is that I could do it -- I'd just have to tell my students tomorrow that they'll have to wait another week for their papers, and I'd have to hand in something to grad workshop that's old, not new work. It would be so easy. Paul was saying yesterday that the terrible thing about graduate school is that it doesn't really matter if you don't do things on time -- that the world doesn't end if you hand in a paper late. That sounds like a positive thing, doesn't it? Nobody freaking out about minor latenesses? And it does reduce stress, but it also makes it very very very easy to get behind. It's all about the self-discipline, and some days, I really don't want to have any.
But I will. It's too early to go to Borders, so I'm going to make some tea and do some post-colonial reading here. I have one more response paper to write, so I'll do that too. Then I'm going to shower, and get dressed, and pack up my bag and trudge out into the snow -- oh, don't I sound pitiful? I'm going to go to Borders and get some more tea and put my headphones on and watch the Temple through the snow until I'm ready to write -- and then I'm going to finish a draft of "Riddhi", if it kills me. That's the critical thing -- the students can wait, if they need to. I'll take the grading along too, though, just in case.
I might even enjoy walking through the fresh-fallen snow, a teeny tiny bit. Getting snow caught in my hair. Having it melt when I go inside, into a brief lattice of sparkling water. There are things to appreciate about snow, I know. I wish Karina were here, though; she loves it so, and it's much easier to appreciate it in her company. 11:00 p.m. The day improved. I did finish my draft, and got a few other things done too. I just sent Riddhi's story, "The Emigrant", out to the readers' list; lemme know what you think. I'm a little too tired to feel the usual high I get from a story, but I am satisfied to have it done. I'm afraid I'm going to be a little behind tomorrow, but such is life, eh? Class was good; now I'm tired. But hey -- go check out the new Strange Horizons -- it's not just Monday, it's the first Monday of the month, so the issue is extra-jam-packed with cool stuff in every department.