Room cleaning today, forcing the place back into a more easily navigable state after allowing it to fall into unsightly disarray. Mighty storms fell before the cleaning feat and accompanied throughout, continuing sometime afterwards after a short quiet spell, though more distant. Lightning was impressive – caused several unbecoming outbursts of cursing from my own lips as my sister and I watched “Game of Thrones.” Storms reigned last night also, reaching its peak as the choristers of QUMS met for their academic dinner, this year a semi-outside affair. Though my yukata was christened by rain, as were many other suits and dresses, the thunder timed itself well (for the most part) to add emphasis and offset speeches, and the food was tasty, one delightful course delivered in individual noodle boxes. Received most gentlemanly courtesies from a friend in the form of his protective jacket, and also a rose from another’s friend’s mother’s garden, beheaded yet still lovely. White its dominant shade, the blossom is splashed with rouge – would be as a blood splatter, were it more red, and less cool, lovely pink. This rose now floats in a small glass bowl on the kitchen bench, fed by sugar dissolved in water once warm, which I was assured the blossom would most enjoy. Not yet touched NaNo today, my intention to complete a side-section of the novel and top up my word count as soon as this log entry is complete. Which I suppose it is. Now.