I woke this morning to a dank, rainy smell. It had rained through the night. I got up. Rain water was pooling by my front door. Outside it, a foot deep pond had grown up over night. The parking lot slopes downhill to me, fairly steeply. Leaves from the trees had clogged the grate meant to drain away water like this. Instead, a moat waited on me. There was no way I was going to chance it in the Jazzy. It'd likely explode. So I canceled classes, called maintenance, and began overseeing mopping. Which is basically eating half a raisin bagel while The Sunshine Lady mopped the water that had seeped under the door.
Thanksgiving was my parents' home, lots of college football and X-Box 360. Watching them. Sadly, I played neither.
Off shortly to a coffee house reading run on-campus by students. Should be fun.
An almost unimaginable synchronicity today: the week before last, I'd had some friends from the department over for a screening of Yor, the Hunter from the Future. Because I'm that kind of pal. But technical difficulties led to us watching Planet Terror. Today, Margaret stopped me in the hall with what looked like an old hardcover book. The lined diary pages were filled with her handwriting, circa 1983. She read one entry.
About seeing a movie, at the theater, called Yor, the Hunter from the Future.