As much as I enjoy ice cold lemonade on a warm day, 4th of July fireworks, and poolside picnics with friends, summer has never been my season. Although the summer months are something that I look forward to (especially when I am knee-deep in class projects and final exams), they are also the time of year that I grow tired of the quickest. To me, June and July have always stood for freedom and fun; with them comes a much needed break from the monotony of everyday routine—a brief period full of sweet family reunions, sunny beach vacations, and late nights of endless laughter. From a distance, summer can seem like Heaven. And by golly, most of the time it is.

But once August rolls around every year, without fail, I become incredibly antsy... Antsy for the ungodly heat to relinquish and make way for a cool autumn breeze, for the green leaves to turn orange and the morning air to blanket the ground with dew. I anticipate the day that I can step outside in a sweater and jeans instead of a sundress; I smile at the thought of curling up with a mug of hot cocoa after a long day of school. This year, I look forward to decorating the apartment in fall colors and hosting dinner parties with butternut squash soup as the main dish. And of course, I can hardly wait to begin counting down the days until All Hallows' Eve, Thanksgiving, and finally Christmas.

As much as I adore the simple sweetness of summertime, my heart was made for those glorious autumn breezes.

My last evening in Houston. Austin bound before sunrise. A French vanilla cappuccino from Buc-ee's. Spacious apartment living. Unpacking and organizing with the help of my family. Lunch at Kerbey Lane Cafe. Back to Ikea for the missing pieces. More arranging and decorating. Bittersweet goodbyes. Applying for a job at BookPeople. A highly anticipated reunion with Megan and Anthony. Shopping at Whole Foods for first-home-cooked-meal ingredients. The O.C. marathon, perhaps? Female bonding with the roomies. Preparing for my second year of college. An appointment with the Communications advisor. Ten days until classes start. Freedom.

Kristen had me watch "Just a Kiss" by Lady Antebellum last night, and I thought it was so beautiful that I almost cried. Yes, I am a little pathetic, but it's also just that good. Now that I've seen it a few hundred times, I feel the need to share such a heartwarming video with whoever is willing to waste a few minutes of their day. (Time well wasted, I'd say.) Who knows? It might just bring out the pathetic in you, too.

Best music video ever. (Sorry, T-Swift.)

*P.S. I became really emotional when I realized that half of it takes place in London. Ridiculous, I tell you.

After work today, I treated myself to dinner at a French restaurant in River Oaks. I sat at a little table for two, right next to a big window so the evening sun could rest on my shoulders. While I waited for my meal, I read a chapter of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre.

This passage stood out among the rest; therein lies a truth that is simple in theory, yet easily ignored or forgotten in the heat of a moment. Needless to say, it stuck with me for the rest of the evening; books are meant to awaken something inside of us, after all. Within the next few minutes, my food was brought out to me and the novel was set aside. I ate slowly, enjoying every bite of my avocado and cheese sandwich, while I contemplated admiringly the remarkable passion, wisdom, and integrity of Jane's character. If anyone deserves a happy ending, I concluded, it's Miss Jane—a true beauty. Meanwhile, there was no conversation going on around me, no communication of any sort. Nothing required my attention: not any person or electronic device, not infatuation or worry. Time stood still. The past was irrelevant, the future was nonexistent. In that moment, it was just me and a story and a quaint cafe.

Before walking across the street to Barnes & Noble, I scanned the marquee of the River Oaks Theater and decided in a split second that it might be fun to see a movie. Why not? There was a showing of Midnight in Paris at 7:15pm. Perfect. I had forty-five minutes to kill. So I made my way to the bookstore, curled up in one of their big comfy chairs, and dove once again into the riveting world of Jane Eyre. Let me just say, forty-five minutes seems like ten when you're under the spell of a good book. On my way out, I smiled at the same employee that teased Marissa, Kristen, and me a few months ago for confiscating all of the wedding magazines from the shelf. I don't think he recognized me, but he smiled back. A kind, genuine smile.

The theater was less crowded than I expected it to be on a Friday night. I bought a box of Raisinettes and picked a center seat, right in between a quiet young couple sharing popcorn and an older couple who filled the theater with their awkward laughter. The film began by lighting up the screen with snapshots of Paris while beautiful music played in the background. Instantly, I was smitten. And even though most of the clever jokes went right over my head, I loved every ninety-four minutes of it. (Paris, here I come.) Needless to say, I walked out of there feeling quite happy: Never before had I gone to see a movie all by my lonesome, but my first time to do so was a success.

Driving home, I turned the radio up loud and sang every word to Shinedown's Second Chance. Although I don't love that song, the experience was blissful. All of it—the dinner, the comfy chair, the movie about Paris, the whole evening—was absolutely wonderful. Who's to say a Friday night spent alone is a bad thing? Au contraire, mes amis.

I'm falling apart

I'm barely breathing

With a broken heart 

That's still beating.

It's already been two whole years of Wishful Thinking? This is madness.

Photo taken in Galveston on my 1st blogiversary, exactly one year ago.