Speaking of dates with significance, my history teacher told us about this historian who took his family on vacations by traveling the path that Lewis and Clark took across the West while reading Merriwether Lewis's journals on the corresponding dates in which they were written. That sentence exemplifies proper grammar.... Anyway, although I suppress my amazement in my history class due to the fact that I am usually about to fall asleep, I am genuinely really impressed by this historian's family vacation. When I was younger I loved reading these books from a series called Dear, America. These books were all historical fiction diaries from the point of view of girls in various periods of America's past, and I always wanted to read them on the corresponding dates in which they were written. However, since they were library books, I didn't want to keep checking them out over and over again. Also, sometimes the character would go a while without writing, and I would get impatient and want to keep reading. So even though in theory I would have liked to read along with the writing, if you will, logistically it wasn't going to work out.
Another interesting thing about history is that things happened more slowly. For example, the farther back we go in history our dates get less specific, which can be attributed to a lack of accurate information, but it can also be attributed to the fact that information didn't travel fast in that time. People didn't find out about current events (that would later become historical events) until well after they happened, and nowadays we can communicate so quickly people know when things happen in real time.
I shall now go off on a tangent. Actually, I'm going off on a sine divided by cosine. I may have learned identities today in pre-calculus. My math teacher may have laughed maniacally before he told us what we were learning today.
Anyway, I love sweater weather. I really, really, really love it, and my birthday weekend was perfect because of it, and last week it rained which was very nice. But tomorrow it is going to be 100 degrees. And people wonder why I hate California weather. Yeah, all two and a half of our seasons are nice (season one: really hot, season two: that amazing weather where you can decide whether or not you feel like putting a cardigan on over your tank top, and the half season: chilly on California standards), but they are so unpredictable and sporadic. Thus is the state of the world these days.
I really want to live somewhere with four seasons. Leaves ample for jumping into (while wearing sweaters) in the fall, a perfect blanket of powdery white snow in the winter, a plethora of fresh flowers with the occasional fall of rain in the spring, and a dry, hot, perfect for swimming summer. Is that too much to ask?
You know what is especially perfect about my perfect weather systems? Each one of them has a different place for me to read a book. In the fall I can read on my porch or indoors in a big comfy chairs, in the winter there is nothing better than curling up with a down comforter and hot chocolate, in the spring I can read on the window seat while I wait for the rain to stop, and in the summer I can read underneath the perfect shady tree.
Three of those four locations don't exist in my house. I don't have a porch, a window seat, or a large shady tree. I do have a down comforter, but I don't have winter. Sometimes I pretend I do, though. I just miss reading. I love reading. Books books books books books.
Happy birthday to Emily Davison (look her up on Wikipedia if you don't know who she is), Eleanor Roosevelt, Jerome Robbins, Daryl Hall, Joan Cusack, Jane Krakowski, Emily Deschanel, and Michelle Trachtenberg.
Just go back and read that sentence again. I think it's necessary to your existence.
I want to go on a trip and read a book.
