Or maybe it's just the waiting. I'm not great at waiting for important news - I have a tendency toward single-minded focus which is useful for things like writing novels but seriously unhelpful when turned toward the outcome of events over which I have no control.
But whatever the cause, the heat and freedom of summer seem far away now. Between my unemployment and Mr. B's academic schedule, we had a nice long time to romp around together, and romp we did. There was a lovely month in Boulder with cute_anarchy and Mr. M - early summer is the time of dandelion fluff in the Colorado mountains, with flurries of seeds and fuzz floating over the streets in the slow breeze. The air was so dry it gave me nosebleeds, but I didn't mind. We strolled out to used book stores and ice cream shops and listened to baseball games and ate farmer's market salads and wished we never had to leave. But on we went to North Carolina and Oregon and New York, visiting family and eating too much and leaving behind a trail of recently-read books that no longer fit into our luggage. Then up to Vermont for a few weeks with Mr. B's mother in a lovely but poorly-maintained rental house, where we ate pie and diner burgers and drove up and down the river and tried to stay away from the downstairs bathroom with its soggy, crumbling walls. The end of the summer was punctuated by Hurricane Isaac knocking out our power for almost a week, which I spent in Portland on an unexpectedly extended visit to my brother, and which Mr. B spent alone eating cold pasta and reading by flashlight.
So now the semester is well underway again, and I'm trying to figure out how soon I'm going to want another job, and trying to get back into a writing groove after months of editing, and in the mean time of course spending too much time working on other people's projects and playing video games and reading MetaFilter. So it goes. I'll be more productive tomorrow. Unless the cold gets worse, or distraction gets the best of me, or... you know how it goes.