The Reader’s Digest version of this post: there’s not much new in my life, and I love snow.
The Charles Dickens/Leo Tolstoy version is as follows:
I’ve had a lot of screen time these past few days, editing my own work from years past and trying to come up with some sort of coherent statement that will convince any one of six schools that they should let me hang out in their library next year. Unfortunately, I don’t think the following will suffice:
To the application committee:
I’m awesome, and I want a PhD. Thanks!
Also, in what world did junior-in-college Rachel live where it was okay to put two spaces after sentences? Kids, do your footnotes right the first time, it’ll save you a lot of time if you ever decide to apply to grad school. This less-than-social process has led to a lot of being dressed like this:
Don’t worry, Mom, I’m not becoming some sort of Chicago Manual of Style-addicted hermit. As Germans don’t really celebrate Halloween–as in, I asked a group of them if they were celebrating Halloween, and they all but snorted “Hell naw” (auf Deutsch, natürlich) at me–we were left to our own devices to celebrate this weekend.
As my friends and I made plans to head to Starnberg for some Halloween festivities, we were greeted by my favorite form of precipitation: snow! Growing up in Wisconsin, I remember that every Halloween costume my childhood self came up with was inevitably covered up by the huge coat required to go trick-or-treating in the cold, so wading through the falling snow to celebrate Halloween seemed ridiculously familiar. When I woke up yesterday morning, the scene outside my window suggested that I had just pulled a semi-Rip Van Winkle and woken up a few months from now.
If you’re on the East Coast and reading this, please don’t wash away. If you’re in the Midwest, stay strong through the last week of living in a swing state! If you’re on the West Coast, um, hi Laura?