I'll Tell You About Thanksgiving Eventually, Okay?

My feet are dry, and my lotion is MIA, so I am suffering quite badly here. I hate the feeling of dry skin. It rubs me absolutely the wrong way. I know you're trying to make some clever pun or wordplay out of that, so stop it. I can't do puns; they elude me, the pesky bacchanals.

Anyway, my feet are dry, and also, my cell phone charger plug keeps falling out of the outlet. Okay, nevermind, I just fixed it. I knew all that watching of MacGyver would pay off eventually, even if I never get a chance to disarm bombs.

I just finished writing the second of many many papers that will be written by me this week, so I'm feeling sort of giddy, like I've just had some champagne. Or what I imagine it'd feel like, which is really what counts. Because what is reality besides what I make it? How can you tell me how champagne will affect me, having never been me? There you go.

I'm sorry -- I just found out that my yellow is not your yellow, so your bananas all probably look freakish and gross, and it's kind of affecting me in a deep and incredible way. I'm going to go have some Hint of Lime chips (they're so good, go try some) and go sleep. Brushing my teeth in between, of course. I like the feeling of slippery-clean teeth; it's almost like glowing.