any time now, fall

I just finished the fifth week of the semester. We are officially one-third of the way finished, and that's such a terrifying statement that I am refusing to consider it. Because my students have many, many more papers to go and OH MY GOD I HAVE TO GRADE ALL OF THE FIRST ONES THIS WEEKEND BLERGGGGGGGGGGGG.

Ahem.

So in other, non-school-related news (believe it or not, this is what I was getting at with the first sentence), we just finished week 5. It was, however, at least eighty degrees every day this week. I realize that I complain a lot when fall, my favorite season, is delayed, but here's why I'm rationalizing to bitch about it this year: mosquitoes.

My apartment, thus far, has not revealed any major problems. Yes, the sink is rust-stained in a way that, as the B so delicately put it, makes it look as if it is pooping, but so far I have not experienced any a) flooding b) oven fires c) rodent infestation d) meth-dealing neighbors or e) any attempted break-ins. Which makes this place the first in five years without any of the above, so we're on a roll here. I have yet, of course, to determine how brutally cold this place may get once winter kicks in, but at least I'm up on the second floor, and heat rises. Also, sailorsausage has been here for years, and I would think that if the temperature dipped to fifty-eight all winter long (AHEM, 435 Oxford Street), they wouldn't have renewed their lease. Because I don't think it's just a stereotype that graying gay men spend all winter indoors with the heat cranked up, wearing cut-off shorts and tickling each other. Seems pretty logical to me.

To date, the worst problem I face is that two of my windows don't have screens in them. These windows are also floor-level, so I keep them open only a few inches. The dog is fond of hanging out of the kitchen one, woofing quietly at squirrels, but he has yet to fall from it, so it hasn't bothered me.

Except this week. Because it's warm out. Which means that the mosquitoes are not all dead yet, and the windows are still open and screen-less, and the mosquitoes have been letting themselves in uninvited and buzzing me at night. So all week long I have had to choose between hiding under the covers when it is too warm for covers, or hanging legs and arms and face out and thus waking with multiple bites. I feel sort of stupid, having to pause mid-lecture notes to scratch a recent welt on my calf, and I'm nostalgic for sweaters and would like to debut some turtlenecks with this recent hair chop. So Fall, on the chance that you read blogs (uh, what else does a season have to do?) please hurry up and consider coming to Michigan sometime next week. Also, it is too cold for new tomatoes but too warm to hunker down with cider and squash. You are a slacker, Fall.

Having said this, I'm headed outside to enjoy an adult beverage on the back deck and promptly wipe all memory of this week from my head until tomorrow morning, when I will have to retrieve the stacks of narratives and portfolios from my car. That's where I thoughtfully left them tonight, and you know what? I didn't even crack a window. If a few die, that's just fine with me.