Presiding over President's Day

President's day began with a slow morning of sleeping in, reading in John, and a cream-cheese-slathered cinnamon bagel. Kisses and "I love you"s were exchanged between my husband and I as he went to work and I snuggled further under the covers. My externship at the elementary school is canceled for the holiday. 

When I finally did get up, I packed and dressed for writing--warm, comfortable, and ready to carve my name into a different environment: the Student Union Building (aka. SUB). Usually I go to a coffee shop to hunker down and write, but UCM provides free copies of the New York Times and I've grown a new fetish for reading the news (partially caused by creating a fetish in my own book's main character for reading the news). 

During my walk to campus, I met a fancy, black-coated, briefcase-carrying professor climbing out of a tow-truck that dropped him off. I told him it was classy a classy ride. I then ran into multiple people I know (not literally) who exchanged bright smiles and hugs. Once in the SUB, I staked a claim on table two by the fountain. Across the room, two skinny young students (I'm guessing Freshmen, because they look like high-schoolers to me, but they wouldn't be here if they were) ate an entire gigantic pink cake over the course of an hour. Dare? Birthday party? New diet? Who knows? It was delightful to watch.

After I chopped up a NY Times paper and tucked away my favorite articles, I wrote 1,200 brand new words in my novel. I'm polishing off my creation of the future government and wrote up the story of my own President Garraty. Yes, in the year 2308, I predict our nation will still have a president (and his name will be Garraty, for no particular reason other than it sounded like a nice president name).

During bouts of overthinking, I watched the rainstorm come in and debated calling my husband to come pick me up. I got called first, but not by my husband. I chatted on the phone with the local librarian who called to tell me my most recently requested book, Crossed (by Ally Condie), had arrived. It's the newest victim for my book review blog, but it's not the genre I'm currently craving. My novel-hungry mind is , instead, itching to reopen the cover of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. Okay, I know it's not a genre, but it might as well be it's own genre--the genre of strong characters and phenomenal writing. Nothing like a good book on a rainy day. I think I'll go pick up Crossed and then flip a quarter to find out the winner of my attention. 

Certainly the best President's Day I've ever had.