Peppermint ice cream is only sold in December.
So, I'm home for a while.
People ask really insipid questions to start off conversations, and moreover, they have absolutely no interest in my answer at face value.
(16:43:17) (name): ready for xmas?
This means 'Let's start a conversation about Christmas, which might lead to insights into your past, chances for me to empathize with the pain your father caused you, and eventually my penis in your vagina.'
I am not so ready for Christmas, incidentally (this doesn't mean we're going to have sex...), but I'm working on it. I found things for my parents on Ninth Street- nice to shop for people to whom Native Threads and Vaguely Reminiscent are still novelties.
Being home for two weeks is already pretty boring, but I'm enjoying the chance to catch up on sleep, eat decent food, and curl up in front of the (gas) fireplace with my laptop. I picked up Wade from school today after some errands to Target (hello, Jon) and the bank, and I had a strange ten minutes sitting there waiting for him, looking out through the windshield at people I knew who don't recognize me, and reading my Scientific American on the steering wheel. On the way home we stopped at Chick-fil-a, which is new in Goldsboro and has been surrounded by it's own little fleet of cars awaiting their share of the chicken novelty every time I've seen it. Not so bad at all.
For two weeks I'll sit by the fire and read virology papers and be calm and unimportant, and it will be good. (Or at least, not so bad at all.)
I have time to follow the flu more closely over the break, too: http://news.google.com/nwshp?tab=wn&q=flu&ie=UTF-8
The longer I'm home, the more parentheses I'll use. Or the null hypothesis: being home has no effect on my tendency to use parentheticals. I will test this. (Maybe.)
People ask really insipid questions to start off conversations, and moreover, they have absolutely no interest in my answer at face value.
(16:43:17) (name): ready for xmas?
This means 'Let's start a conversation about Christmas, which might lead to insights into your past, chances for me to empathize with the pain your father caused you, and eventually my penis in your vagina.'
I am not so ready for Christmas, incidentally (this doesn't mean we're going to have sex...), but I'm working on it. I found things for my parents on Ninth Street- nice to shop for people to whom Native Threads and Vaguely Reminiscent are still novelties.
Being home for two weeks is already pretty boring, but I'm enjoying the chance to catch up on sleep, eat decent food, and curl up in front of the (gas) fireplace with my laptop. I picked up Wade from school today after some errands to Target (hello, Jon) and the bank, and I had a strange ten minutes sitting there waiting for him, looking out through the windshield at people I knew who don't recognize me, and reading my Scientific American on the steering wheel. On the way home we stopped at Chick-fil-a, which is new in Goldsboro and has been surrounded by it's own little fleet of cars awaiting their share of the chicken novelty every time I've seen it. Not so bad at all.
For two weeks I'll sit by the fire and read virology papers and be calm and unimportant, and it will be good. (Or at least, not so bad at all.)
I have time to follow the flu more closely over the break, too: http://news.google.com/nwshp?tab=wn&q=flu&ie=UTF-8
The longer I'm home, the more parentheses I'll use. Or the null hypothesis: being home has no effect on my tendency to use parentheticals. I will test this. (Maybe.)