And may all your Christmases be trite

Alive! She's alive! And almost made it through finals. The psychological burden of procrastination makes me forget how easy I have it, taking only three courses. American university--should it be in my future--is going to tear me apart. I've been trying to compile a list of things that would make staying here--should it be in my future--not so bad. So far, I have: living with Lucy. But I just started yesterday, so check back for updates! Not. Alright, I'm exhausted. Trying to rearrange one's sleep schedule is exhausting. But the days seem like they're worth so much more when I don't sleep through them. Sunlight is a valuable currency here. I'm considering bottling it up and bringing it back to people as Christmas presents--"Genuine, Scottish Sunlight! I know! It's unbelievable! ..A book? You got me.. a book? I got you Genuine Scottish Sunlight and you got me.. a book? What kind of friend are you? What the fuck is happening to my life?"

Merry Christmas, all.

MEH MEH MEH

How I feel about monster English Lit. papers, Art History finals, the drama wrought upon my existence by the Amtrak website, and the fact that I have to sit through two whole weeks of waiting before I get to snuggle up with my male of choice and get drunk with all my best friends. 

May your days be merry and bright!

This week was filled with drunken Christmas cheer and dreams of snow. Hibernation at its finest. Movie watching, scrabble playing, snuggling up like kittens. Wine drinking! Holiday charades. Waltzing in the middle of the street amidst a rogue patch of flurries. Hiding from the cold. Sliding around on icy sidewalks, trying not to fall. Boots, hats, scarves, big coats, big grins, no money, Otis Redding, and I'm going home soon. All before the beginnings of exam hell.

But I ain't been condemned yet!

"What happens when greatness does not occur?"

I will post in this regularly. Else, what's the point?

The past few weeks have been fairly eventful. There was work, and then there was significantly less work. There were lots of sunny days, a couple rainy ones. There was Ridhima's birthday. She bought everyone shots of tequila, and we danced our little hearts out to terrible music. It snowed that night, when we were walking home. I munched on falafel and watched my friends throw snowballs at each other, scampering around the desolate, white streets like little kids meant to be home sleeping. Yes, lots of tequila that weekend. My parents visited for Thanksgiving. It was nice, but strange seeing them; I can't really imagine what it's going to be like to go home for break after living on my own, making my own rules, single-handedly bringing about my own tragic demise for a couple months now. Ridhima and Shaun came to Thanksgiving dinner. I ate partridge, or attempted to. It was a wrestling match of sorts, and I'm not so sure that I conquered much on my plate besides the vegetables. It was completely surreal. I wish there were pictures. Bought a fedora. Some fabulous gun-metal gray oxfords..

I'm very much looking forward to going home for Christmas break, although seeing my parents has admittedly made me a bit anxious about it. I wish there was some way we could all just accept each other and get off each other's backs. I want to have fun over break, not conflict--that's what I'm putting on my Christmas list, anyway. I'm so looking forward to seeing all my wonderful friends. I miss their faces every day.

Tomorrow I have an oral exam, for French, which is going to be predictably nightmarish. I'm anything but fluent under pressure; I doubt there will be much noticeable difference between myself and a stammering donkey come the dawning hour of 4:30. However, after that, I'll have a grand evening of smoking and munching and drinking and just being a decadent motherfucker.

Tonight.

Wake up 5 pm. Smoke with Lucy. Doodle with Lucy. German Market w/ the gang. Fireworks. Mulled wine. Bratwurst. Ferris Wheel. More wine. Back to Lucy's. Stop at Tesco for liquor and snacks. Scrabble game on Lucy's big bed. Cookie party. Smoke more. Drink more. Words. Someone fucks the game up. We've been unintentionally cheating. No one's keeping score. Cranium? Too distracted. Banter. Everyone passes out. Wined out. Snuggle. Wake up. Out we go. Call Ben. Smoke with Ben. Call Rob. Smoke with Ben and Rob. Search for ping-pong accoutrements with Ben. Fail. Watch informercials and ridiculous late-night reality shows in the common room until 6 am. Laughter. Cynicism. A perfect saturday.

What a nerd.

So my step-sisters showed my mom my facebook photos, and all she had to say to me was, "They were so nice!"

Some days I think I'd feel better if I tried harder

I wish I could go back to before the papers were written, when, in the heat of procrastination, I must have thought of every cool thing there is to do instead of writing a paper, ever. Now I'm bored. And out of money. And hungry. I wish I had a Greasy Chinese Takeout dispenser in my room. One day..

I need a snuggle buddy. Just someone to hang around my bed and make me laugh, nuzzle my hair, and just make life in the box a lot more fun. I think I've mentioned something like this before. Honestly, I'm starving for human affection.

Things are changing. I'm sad. I need hugs.

True love..

..lies solely in embarrassing, mushy, kissy face screen-grabs.

"But nights are long in winter, when darkness comes down at four o'clock and people have time to think of everything."

It's saturday night, and I'm so exhausted from relentless pot smoking that I've opted to just curl up into bed, where I can be tired and silent and useless in a place where nothing is expected of me. By body needs a break. My mind needs a break. I've far surpassed any amount of legitimate, intellectually stimulating marijuana usage. Now I'm just getting silly; silly and slow. You know it's time to take a break when you just don't feel cool anymore.

This week was really tiring, and frustrating at times. It's left me feeling very honest. I want to be as honest with others as I try to be with myself. It's just so much more work to put on an act, even if it is an unconscious one. Fuck it, fuck it all. I want to communicate with people who want to communicate back. Where do I find these communicators? To my good friends: you've spoiled me! I just need someone to take care of me for the next few days, until I stop feeling like such a vulnerable little deer that people keep mistaking for a bear. You know, someone to move into my room, make me tea and bring me good food when I'm hungry, make sure I write my English paper, spoon-feed me cough medicine to put me to sleep, read me stories about positive people doing positive things..

God, I need to get laid.

This week on our show..

I've been experiencing this cold sweat thing every time I fall asleep lately. I guess that's kind of gross, but I've been feeling honest. I suppose I could blame it on my flannel duvet cover trapping the heat, but I've had this duvet cover for about two months now, and this only started happening recently. The only possible answer is a psychological one. Today, upon spacing out during my English lecture, I racked my brain for possible subconscious catalysts for the cold sweats. I guess there are several things that could be compiling to form one big cold sweat producing ailment, but there is one, definite possibility: Ira Glass' voice. I've been falling asleep to This American Life for the past two weeks or so, since around when the sweats began. Perhaps nasaly Jewish voices aren't as soothing as I'd always assumed. Ugh, perhaps my subconscious is being narrated by the talk radio lovechild of Woody Allen and Lou Reed.

Well, let the troubleshooting begin.