The symptoms of our getting older: the problems we say we don’t mind. Most of us never get over memories mingled with lies

You know, I really should be giving credit to those from whom I lift my title sentences. These past few times it’s been Built to Spill — a huge surprise, I’m sure. There’s just so many little nuggets of wisdom sprinkled in their lyrics that I can’t ignore. I want to share. It’s Christmastime, dammit!

Speaking of Christmastime, there’s a Bing Crosby (I think) xmas album playing the the background at work, which is nice. It’s way better than the trashy Xtina Aguilera xmas carols I heard at Zaxby’s the other day. I don’t like to trash her for getting naked and nasty or whatever, because that’s her bag, but I will trash her for ruining already terrible xmas songs by inflecting that horrible pop voice that has to waste an entire octave on every note. Is Celine Dion or Whitney Houston responsible for ushering in that terrible trend? A pox on them all.

I finally got my philosophy grade back. Yeah, it’s an A. Which means straight As for the first time in college (I think). So I’ll be on the Dean’s List and in the Courier at home and all the fixins. Mmm, it’s the little triumphs that make the big ones seem oh so unattainable.

I’m cat-sitting this week for my jetsetting friends. Amber and Courney are in New York chilling. Patrick and his pals are in Las Vegas, getting into more trouble than I may ever find out about. So I’ve got to go feed Stinky and Maevis when I leave the library. Then the day is mine to waste. I love not having homework. I love being able to read five books at once — all of them of my choice. Ah, this vacation has already been recuperative.