It's fall.

I LIVE in Little House On The Prairie. (Minus the blackface, the racist comments about Native people, and the bonnets.) You know how in "The Long Winter", there's this huge blizzard and they spend all their time in one room of the house because that's the only place they have heat?

Well, I'm doing that now.

I reference Little House On The Prairie way too much.

Anyway, my favorite housemate and I (that's a lie, they're all my favorites for different reasons) are sitting in the living room. We live in an old urban style rowhouse -- if you've ever been in a house in DC you'll know what I'm talking about -- and we have those glass doors in the living room that can close if off from the rest of the house.

We're sitting here having a grand old time with Aunt Nellie's Afghan, laptops, a guitar, and tea with Special Herbs in it. A space heater is working overtime in the center of the room. I'm wearing leggings, two skirts, my Underarmour (best Christmas present ever, Ma), a sweatshirt, and rainbow-themed toe socks. Aunt Nellie's Afghan (which is a collection of granny sqaures so garish that it looks cool) is wrapped around my feet, which are still cold.

What I'm trying to say: my house is freezing. It's only November. By February -- I don't even want to think about February.

But I like living in a place with four seasons. And fall means it's time for potato soup, sweet potato excess, pumpkin pie, chai, and apple cider.

Awwww yeah!

In other words, here is a list of things I've been doing to procrastinate on writing my novel:

1. Eat.
2. Talk to housemates.
3. Talk to my lady friend.
4. Clean. This is actually a good procrastination method because you NEED to clean, so you don't feel bad while you're doing it. I even washed the windows.
5. Work on stuff for work.
6. Go to happy hours.
7. Read.
8. Research things that are vaguely, but not really related to my book.
9. Blog.

I reached thirteen thousand words yesterday.

Still 37,000 more to go.