When I remember my childhood, it always feels like fall. Let's not dwell on the fact that I grew up in Florida and that it was below 75 for about three weeks a year. For some reason, I remember doing arts in crafts in the front room of my best friend's house with a bunch of other girls while we waited for Girl Scouts to start. It's always fall. If that's not a season of nostalgia, I don't know what is.
I don't necessarily have anything to say, but I do feel obligated to update. Since Paris, I've been getting my ducks in a row for a big move to Boston. There'll be plenty to say about that soon, I'm sure. For now, here's this: moving sucks.