I was thrifty all the same, which I'd like to think gives me a few redemption points. I have a Rosie the Riveter poster now (acquired at no cost; hence, the thriftiness), a bit spattered with remnants of the white wine we slipped into my satchel (also free of charge; the guide promised it to us as a reward for our services, of sorts) and snapped the VP's car key in trying to open.

All told, I was not back by ten-thirty, but two-thirty, after nearly eleven hours of driving and detouring (re: killing time, taking the scenic route, or, if you prefer, getting lost) through DC, taking posh and pumpkin pictures in a smashingly snazzy hotel, adopting British accents for no reason whatsoever, that ended with five PRISMers in rumpled finery chomping s'mores in a dusky cafe, playing with fire while planning masquerades and drag balls.

Also, I've been roped into another historian position. There's just no getting away from it. Making the PRISM scrapbook should be nice, even more so since I'm not the photographer. I just take what I'm given and make it look nice. works for me, as neither developing nor buying film is inexpensive. The photographer seems to be doing a lovely job thus far, and I've only had a few impulses to start clicking away myself. I have, however, pressed her a few times to capture what I considered Kodak moments. But I've broken my habit of snapping everything in sight, at least, which counts for something, never mind what. I didn't take my camera to Ohio, even; in fact, for all the excellent photo opportunities I encountered there, it never even crossed my mind. Looks like I'll be making a run home to pick up my photo supplies. And my winter coat, for that matter. Fall is finally getting into the swing of things thank heaven. The 'mates and I rearranged the room tonight, so it no longer resembles the forced triple it is quite so distinctly. We're all terribly proud of ourselves. A rug is in order, and curtains, and colored shades, and I've laid claim to the walls. Makes me feel like a cross between Mary Poppins and Martha Stewart. And I'm not complaining. Oh dear. Campus food really does affect one's neurosis, it seems. As if I need any more contributions.

On a random note here... Must do laundry. One of the boys wound up spilling wine all over my Maastricht pants. It was excellent, for the record (the wine, mind, not being doused with it), seeing as I don't normally like white. Because I'm such a connoisseur of fine wines, oh yes... worldly thing that I am.

No need to muddle any further now, not that there was before.

Adieu.