PSL

It's that season again, when all the white girls in The States don their nike shorts, ugg boots, and head on over to Starbucks to take selfies with their pumpkin spice lattes.

It is one of my dearest pleasures to inwardly (and now bloggily) mock those humans.
At the same time, I admit that there are few things that are more delightful than a good pumpkin spice latte. Or really anything pumpkin flavoured.

Aldi carries so many strange and wonderful pumpkin products during the halloween season including, but not excluded to, pumpkin cream cheese, pumpkin yogurt, and pumpkin pancake mix.

And, I'm not sure if you're quite aware, but Northern Ireland is not known for its pumpkin-flavoured anything.

Not even their Starbucks carried the PSL.
Finally, after days and days of searching, I found one in Sinnamon on Stranmillis. (If you're ever in the UK in the fall and get desperate. I understand. We all have needs.

To me, at that time, I needed pumpkin because it tasted like home: jumping in crisp, fire-coloured leaves, the smell of the ozark mountains changing seasons, and carving pumpkins with my friends. All things I had been stripped of. All things I now have again.

Currently, I'm sitting in Starbucks in Rogers, 45 minutes away from my Siloam, finishing up some office work and drinking a PSL in the rainy weather.

Why?
Partly because I needed to do office work.
Partly because if I chose Rogers instead of Fayetteville, I can see the boyfriend after he gets off work.
Partly in celebration.

Today, I submitted the single most strenuous and single most important paper of my academic career. That's right; the Master's thesis has been officially turned-in. Now, all that's left to do is wait and hope my little American, literary voice is understood.