The storm of the century is brewing outside. The first fat raindrops are beginning to fall, lightning is alarmingly close, and thunder claps are more insistent. Still, the man across the street is carelessly riding his lawnmower, never lifting his eyes from his work. The hurried look on his face leads me to believe that perhaps he is more aware of what lies on the horizon than I he shows. It's one of those weird storms with intensely varying degrees of light and dark. From one window, 6:00 looks more like 9:00, and the wind is tossing debris in crazy patterns across the sky. From another window, I see sunshine filtering happily through raindrops.
My roommate is home for the weekend, and everything is very still. I'm sure the resident merrymakers of Hart House will grace me with their frivolity in a few hours, but until then, I will soak up the solitude. Unfortunately, I have very little to update on. My apologies. I feel like I'm getting sick, so perhaps tonight will be a night of rest and relaxation. We'll see.
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