It's like freezing now. Or something close to it. I used my awful wall heater in my Victorian and it smelled like burnt dust/dirt. Kind of a gritty feeling lodged in the back of your throat.
With the draftiness of this old house, it's like being in a meat locker and without a blanket. You feel like never getting out of bed, which if my current state is any indication, I may not. Except for that pesky work thing. (And is that pesky!)
My writing is coming along, if you can call it that. I get my rough draft back with laughable comments on it by my professor. Man, the more I think about it, the more it sucks. But was anything really good going to be written at 4 a.m.? Probably not.
Luckily, because it's been at least half-written, I am not feeling such a scary sense of panic in my last two weeks of the semester. That's a good thing, right?