I could almost go for a snuggie at this point ...

          The furnace is broken.
          It's fifty-five degrees in my house.
          Chilly!
          I'm currently sitting basically on top of the fireplace, which probably isn't good for my laptop, but ... it's good for my toes. Last night wasn't so bad - I have that ridiculously toasty down-alternative-comforter (which is so toasty that on normal, furnace-working nights I get fever dreams from overheating) and the hoodie my awesome boyfriend so generously lent me at the end of the school year.
          It's currently rainy on top of being cold. I mean, not inside the house. But the weather is rather dreary. I usually like rain, but this damp chill creeps through however many layers I'm wearing and sticks to my wrists. I feel clammy all day. It's like living in a poorly shingled, poorly insulated attic. Sort of.
          It's days like these that make the onset of winter a bummer. Other days, when the air is crisp and seemingly full of invisible sparkles (you totally know what I mean), I get excited for snow. On the one hand, there's sledding and skating and hot chocolate and frost on windows and Christmas and string lights. But on the other hand, there's grey slush and biting wind and scraping ice off the windshield and chapped skin. I think, of the seasons, winter is the most bipolar. The others have their ups and downs, but winter takes the cake on bests and worsts.

          In extremely other news, I finally bought and filled (partially) a phonebook. An actual, bound, paper-and-pencil phonebook. It's kind of exciting. I need to start writing more letters. I've gotten lazy.
          Sort of related to that, I'm going to try to actually make and sell things in my long-defunct Etsy store. My main interest at the moment is to make postcards and stationery. Who knows. Right now the store is vaguely dedicated to "stuff that's quirky." I might narrow that down a bit to encourage the fading art of writing letters. Man, I love the US Postal Service. It's outdated and inconvenient, but I can't help rooting for it. I think it has something to do with stamps. And envelopes. And handwriting. And the idea of mailboxes. The whole thing, I guess. I remember learning how to address an envelope in third grade. Something of that nostalgia sticks with me, I guess.

          Also, p.s., the storytelling party was neat. Nick and I wrote a story on the train. Actually, we wrote the beginning and then decided to improv the rest. It went about as well as you'd imagine. Which means - awesome. Of course.

          Ah, it looks like my dad has fixed the furnace. At least, he's put a new fan in or something? But it has yet to actually do anything like ... you know ... heating the house. Looks like another chilly night ahead.