I am always happy to be a mammal.
Everyone seems to be preparing. Storing and secluding themselves from the weather.
Summer is over, and no one seems to be too depressed about it. I turn on my sunshine light bulb and move my plants near it and just feel like I am a part of something I have created here, in my room.
It feels so good to just think about really long books and green tea.
About finishing that Colette book I started last winter and maybe start doing all the things I said I would on my "list to become a better person." Maybe starting A Swann's Way.
I wrote today and it felt so good. I'm still trying to decide what to put in here now that I've decided not to post poems so I can try to get work published. Maybe winter will bring more writing. A professor asked me if I was excited about the fact that I've been basically writing two poems a week, and I didn't think so. I feel like I could write something I really liked every day and it wouldn't be enough. There would still be more to say. I guess this is why I started taking pictures again - immediate reaction to something beautiful.

I wrote a friend and said that I couldn't live in this world if it wasn't beautiful. And I think that is probably the only statement I have said that will remain true no matter my mood. This is important to me. To have one stable idea. Something to count on, to look forward to.