Snow doesn’t count as snow unless it leaves white fluffy stuff on the ground.

When it comes to snow, I don’t think we’ll ever “grow up” about it. Even though it comes too soon and leaves too late every year, something about the first day of snow brings a strange sense of nastalgia, almost smacking you with the realization that, holy crap, it’s been another year.

In a week, my third semester of college will be over. (And instead of studying for the finals, I chose to do this. Procrastination FTW.) My intimidatingly challenging Photojournalism class will be over, and I will no longer be forced to talk to strangers and push their buttons with my camera. My regrets of taking two dance classes in a row will be forgotten, and I won’t be stumbling to class sweaty and uncomfortable every Mondays and Wednesdays anymore. Perhaps I’ll finally get over my woes of losing a majority of my flashcards and SD cards in an unfortunate misplacement catastrophy, and learn to accept that what’s gone is gone. I’ll spend my winter break on my bed, with my laptop and my dear friend Hulu.com, rejuvenating my closeted lazy bum self that so terribly suffered during my semesters of averaged 5-hrs of sleep a day and predicamens involving staying up till 4am.

One great thing about snow is my cat loves staring at it fall, and there’s something very serene about a cat concentrating.