The weather changed last week, and now it’s the way it should be: 50s, drizzly. I love fall. But I also wonder where this year has gone.

I had a breakthrough on the dissertation. Feels crucial to me, but it also feels pretentious to call it that.

I’ve been having nightmares since the weather changed. This morning, I just woke up with a sense of foreboding. I guess that’s an improvement.

My parents are off on a biking vacation and seem to be having an awesome time. I’m happy for them. And it reminds me that you never run out of new things to do.

My MIL spent most of last week in the hospital.

Difficult times for several of my friends. And for some bloggers I know.

I care too much about people. I don’t necessarily want to change that, but it’s hard.

We have tickets to Rollins' spoken-word show tonight. And to Neil Young next month. We’re not going to see Bill Frisell’s Disfarmer Project, though. The tickets budget can only swell so much, and Neil broke it. (The Minneapolis date is the cheapest on his current tour, though.)

Today is grading day. I can't put it off because more is coming in on Thursday.

I made no photographs this weekend, but Compatriot G and I went for a walk along the river in the sunshine Saturday afternoon and then I went to dinner with Mister Husband last night. So I did in fact go out of the house.

But I didn’t cook. The fridge has to be purged of leftovers before I can cook anything new. Nothing else will fit in there.

Our fifth anniversary is next week. Dude. Half a decade.

This month is a mixed bag. This month is washed salad greens after they’ve been spun. This month is fall trees after a storm. This month is papers flung into a pile, waiting to be sorted. This month is a jumbled candy jar, with the ones you want on the bottom. This month is sweaters! No, coats! No, shorts! No, sweaters! This month is all the cereal shaken together in one box. This month is a snuggly pile-on of unwashed puppies. This month is money in the IRA but not money in the checking account. This month is loose semi-precious stones in the bottom of your grandma's sock drawer.

Oy. This month.