Je t'aime, l'été.

Because, in summer you rarely get a cold. A fever, mayhap. A cold, no.

Guess what I have? Yes. And I got it from Rebecca. Mrpphles, says me. When you have a cold, there are only three things you can do: read, edit your blog, and do crosswords. And sleep. That's four. However, it is a well-known fact that one cannot sleep when one's little sister's Sleeping Beauty alarm clock sings for forty-five minutes, starting at 6:30. I suppose the logic is that if you don't wake up after practically an hour of squeakiness, there's no hope and the mice might as well go back to doing whatever mice do. Laura's really too old for it, but it's the only thing that can wake her up. Of course, when an hour passes and you go ask your mom to make you hot chocolate, she will ask you why you didn't turn it off. Why? Because you forgot your little sister was at a sleepover and expected her to turn it off.

So, after having a mug of warm hot chocolate, I shall retire to listen to the mice interlude, read the amusing comments, and ask said mice to make my bed so I can lie in it and do crosswords.

Auter. . . Wintumn. . . Wall. . . . Finter. . . . .

It seems to me that we have skipped a superficial stage of this season. Hmm, I wonder what it could be. . . autumn. . . hmm. . . .

WHY ON EARTH DOES IT NOT LOOK LIKE AUTUMN?

The grass is growing. Why? Because it's time for it to die. The ground is sprinkled in leaves, yet everything on the trees are green. SPRING GREEN. Some of the trees are bare, some of them are lush. I know that in our climate, there's a give-and-take two weeks of pretty trees before it rains and they're all plastered onto your car, but seriously. . . I'm still waiting. Perhaps the week-long rain plastered them early? So now what?

Also the clothes issue. I do not have any autumn clothes. My room is filled with a cacophony of clothes strewn across every surface. . . a desk. . . a bed. . . a cat. The only plus side is that my father refuses to shut my windows. Instead of going downstairs and outside and then inside and upstairs, I just walk into my room, freeze, melt, and get dressed. So simple. . . if I had the right clothes. Sigh. Shopping soon.

Excuse me. My mother has just informed me that grass is a spring AND autumn crop. Whatever. It's still weird. . . although I guess it dies in summer too. . . .

The clock tower had its own symphony last night. . . ten o'clock. . . how lovely.

Sun-day

Today I woke up at the lovely late time of oh-seven hundred hours. And nineteen minutes. This means only one thing. . . .

Kitty feeding time!

Perry was delighted, Daisy was mildly pleased, and I was disgusted.

Then, seeing that there was absolutely no one else up, I went back to my bed and read my murder mystery. Every character was a criminal, I think. Except for two. There were many triple-negatives. But what truly made my reading experience lovely was that my neighbors a football field or so away were playing their eight-a.m. concerto. The rest of my family slept until nine.

Peter went to his friend's birthday party yesterday.

Peter: *walks up steps*
(One of many of) Peter's friend(s): PETER!!! *giant hug*
Peter: Ack! *goes inside*
(From inside)Peter! Peter! I love you, Peter! It's Peter! I haven't seen you in forever, Peter! PETER!!!!

Yeah. . . .