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Monday, Dec. 22, 2003 - 1:08 p.m.

I have a COLD. Bleah. I can't taste anything and I don't feel like going to buy presents. I don't think I've been sick in a year...probably not since the end of last semester, eh? The cold came on in, like, thirty minutes last night: all of a sudden my head filled with snot and I was sick sick sick. My sneezes make my stomach muscles hurt.

My brother got here last night, and we are silly. I don't have much of anyone to moon in South Carolina; sometimes I try it with L, but he is perhaps not as amused by seeing other people's butts as I am, and he never moons back. Russell and I, however, can be entertained for hours by butts. And my parents' house offers wonderful opportunities for mooning, with many sliding glass doors opening out onto the little patio. You can be watching the sunset, hear a knock, turn around, and be eye to eye with ass. And of course there's always the piano bench, placed such that if someone is at the computer, you can sit down and play the piano, and not until the computee looks up will he or she notice the eight inches of crack you are sporting.

This should not be as funny as it is.

I have a bit more Christmas* shopping I want to do. I feel a tiny bit irresponsible going out in public with my face full of germs, family is more important than your family.

*Russell has been referring to it as "Solstice" on his blog, and technically that's true...we care for neither Jesus nor Santa around here, but are always excited about the sun. We all agree on that. But come on...we still eat fruitcake and Swedish meatballs and open presents wrapped in green and red paper on December 25th, so it's not like we're all that indie-holiday-tastic. We're not trying nearly hard to enough.

In other news...well, there's not much other news. It's dry. It's warm. My PhD applications are lingering postageless, desperately wanting to be sent out but uncertain how they feel about the big world. A student emailed me asking if I'd change his grade so his parents don't make him join the military. I might see Bettina, like, way soon.

And snot drips out of my nose every time I lean over.

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