On Saturday morning I woke up in Charlottesville with a headache, squinting as I almost fell out of bed in search of my cell phone. The bed-side tables in our room had already been moved, so everything was sprawled across the floor along the edge of the bed. 8:03 AM. It's only been a week, but I'm used to being at the office with caffeine already freely flowing through my system by 8:00. I slipped into some yoga pants and threw on a tank top, now searching for an umbrella as I made my way to the door. Rain fell down in a gentle mist, and I could feel it before I even saw it. The morning was chilly and wet, a combination that never fails to awaken something inside of me that I love.

I walked that familiar walk from our apartment to The Corner, stopped at Starbucks for an iced coffee, and then walked back. It was quiet, hardly anyone was out, Rob was still asleep at home, and I thought about how much I love these quiet mornings where I steal away by myself and then come back to wake him up for breakfast.

The rain does this to me. Cold mornings do this to me. Fall does this to me. The beginning of spring does this to me. Hell, every cup of Earl Grey does it to me. I am nostalgia's servant, through and through, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

When it's rainy and grey, I think about my old college apartment, where I lived with three of my girlfriends. I think about Norton Anthologies and Shakespeare and Ian McEwan and writing papers and doing everything with my friends. Bar nights, thousands of pages of reading, weekends at Hampden-Sydney. I look back and think, "Those were the days."

When it's rainy and grey, I think about living in Roanoke for a year while Rob was still at Hampden-Sydney. I think about sitting in Mill Mountain with a cup of tea and a book, and I think about how lovely it is to spend a rainy afternoon at the lake. I think about Rob moving in for winter break, mornings getting breakfast at Aesy's across the street, then coming back to that apartment with the cement floors and the brick walls.

I think about driving to Hampden-Sydney on the weekends, and the Winter Ball, and Frat Circle and having breakfast all together in the dining hall on Sunday morning. I think about Farmville and what a wonderful little college town it is, and how every time we go back, I feel like a little piece of me is put back into place.

And now, when it's rainy and grey, I also think about Charlottesville. I think about August morning runs with my beautiful friend Shawna, when it's muggy and hot already at 7 AM. She would run to my apartment and we'd run to the Farmer's Market, stop, walk around with iced coconut chai, buy tomatoes, and then go home. Or we'd run just out of town to a trail where it always seemed wet, in the shade on a gravel path into the woods. We'd stop at Atlas Coffee on the way back in, walking the last half mile with warm or cold drinks depending on the weather.

I think about opening the coffee shop on the Downtown Mall every morning, and getting off work by noon every day, and spending the afternoons at home by myself with books and my thesis or episodes of LOST with Rob.

I think about our little home, that apartment on The Corner with the tiniest, shittiest kitchen you'll ever see and the loudest neighbors you'll ever hear, and I miss it already because it was ours.

When I think about Charlottesville, I think about this quick moment in our lives--barely even a year--that I needed so very much. When I find myself dreading the unknown length of time in which Rob and I will be at least four hours apart, I seek comfort in knowing that after every new experience we go through, I look back and think, "Hey, those were the days."

I think life is wonderful that way--it's a circle in which you enjoy a specific moment of life, then miss it when it's over, all the while creating new memories that you'll soon look back on with love. We leave little pieces of our lives everywhere.

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

--A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

1. At work I use a MacBook Air. Did you know I've never had a Mac before?

It's not nearly as impossible as I thought and I'm already sort of loving it.

2. Tuesday outfit, brought to you by Ann Taylor LOFT. 

3. Hit my first AM train on my way to the office already this week. 

Luckily I have a compulsive need to always be 10-15 minutes early to everything.

4. I impulsively bought this little succulent at the grocery store. I am so glad. He now lives on my desk.

This week, I've been coming home pretty much immediately after work, catching up with Rob and my family, eating dinner, trying to find the motivation to do some pull-ups or at least go on a walk, and then watching an episode of Game of Thrones (I just started last week and am obsessed) before I throw myself into bed, wishing there could just be another half hour in a day. I haven't found the time to do little things like paint my nails or read blogs or fold clothes that have accumulated throughout the week (you know, life things), but I think I'll get the hang of it soon enough.

I haven't been doing much tweeting lately, but I'm sure I'll make up for it on the weekends! Rob and I are off to Charlottesville for one more stay in our apartment before we throw our bed into the back of a truck, finally hand over the keys to the place, and close the book on that little chapter of our lives. I'm going to try to sit down and actually write something about that soon.

What have you all been up to? What are your plans this weekend? Fill me in!

Life Lately According to Instagram is a semi-weekly feature in which I showcase a few of my favorite Instagram shots from the past week or two. You can follow along with me all week if you'd like--just search for username @megan_flynn. (I'm thinking about turning this into a link-up. What do you think? Let me know!)

In this house, there is always mate.

Most people drink it from a pretty little gourd, and we do, sometimes, but this little white cup with a rose on it is my favorite. It sits at the ready on our counter-top, sometimes still warm and full of tea from the morning, sometimes empty as it waits for tomorrow.

I can picture my mom as a child in Argentina, passing mate around with her Italian family; but now here we are--one olive skinned woman and one fair skinned--taking quick sips together in the morning before we leave the quiet house. 

I think about my father and the freckles and Irish names he passed down to my brother and me, and then I think more deeply about that white cup with a rosy exterior, filled with another culture. It makes sense to me.