Today, winter came back with a vengeance. As I shivered at the T-stop this morning, I felt inexplicably delighted by the cold. I suspect that I am a person who has trouble letting go of seasons. I want to be in the throes of the weather, whatever it might be, not teased and tantalized by intimations of the next season. I like winter in Boston, too. I like looking out the window and seeing snow on the train tracks and snow on the tops of the trees and snow on the roofs of the houses on the opposite hillside. I like rushing through the cold wind along with the rest of the commuters, stepping into the warmth of a cafe or bookstore, and feeling my neck get prickly with heat under my scarf. As I remember from my short stay in Minnesota, the drama of piling on all those layers, only to peel them off quickly once inside, is very satisfying.

In other news: 2 out of 3 colleges do not want me to attend their graduate programs. This is extremely disheartening, though perhaps not as devastating as it seemed at first. The second rejection is still very fresh, but I have successfully numbed myself to it, only succumbing to a few flare-ups during the day. When I begin to consider the implications, I feel such a strong surge of panic that I am loathe to continue considering. I will need to think about other possibilities at some point, but right now I can't think what those might be. I feel fairly ashamed about not getting into these schools - I don't want everyone to know - and I recognize that I really do consider them to be arbiters of intelligence and merit, despite all my speeches and rants to the contrary. I have fallen short and it feels just as startling and painful as a literal fall.