2004-01-08 - 3:49 a.m.

I can’t believe I totally forgot to mention that me and Jacob went out on the town earlier. What a bleedin’ spaz I am. Yeah. We went to Champaign so he could get a haircut, it was on New Year’s Eve, and apparently, nothing was looking open, so we ended up at Meijer (my favorite locale as of late) where I talked him into buying these incredibly awesome pants. They had black stripes down the sides of the legs with little gem studs in the middle. They were very cool.

Last night, I stayed up super late (way early?) and baked a ham, made some mashed potatoes and stuffing, popped open a roll of biscuits (I hate it, and it makes me almost pee my pants, I’m afraid of biscuits…?) , and I baked a cake. I think that’s all… never can be too sure. While the ham was baking, I was cleaning my room. I totally found a rockin’ jacket that actually fits me. Score! It was on the floor of my second closet. I’m cleaning out my closets, can you believe it? Anyway, tonight, I’m baking chocolate chip cookies with a half bag of chocolate chips and a full bag of these chocolate chips with holiday shapes mixed in. Bizarro, but very cool nonetheless. I don’t know. When I get stressed, I turn into man’s best friend, a woman who does nothing but enjoy herself in the kitchen making food from the heart. Soul food. I’m totally a black Martha Stewart.

Tonight is my last night home with freedom until Spring Break. Which is about a week long. Grr. And how am I spending it? Belting out chick song lyrics, scaring my cats, and baking chocolate chip cookies. I decided it was too cold for me to clean my room tonight. I’m just not interested in doing it when it’s freaking below zero up there. It’s way cold. And it’s retarded to get bundled up to clean, is it not?

I seem to be babbling, which is just going to prove the whole nerves thing. So toodles.

Thinking - “Memory’s unreliable. No, no, no really. Memory’s not perfect…it’s not even that good. Ask the police. Eyewitness testimony is unreliable. Cops don’t catch a killer by sitting around remembering stuff. They collect facts, they make notes, and they draw conclusions. Facts, not memories. That’s how you investigate. I know. It’s what I used to do. Look, memory can change the shape of a room; it can change the color of a car. And memories can be distorted. They’re just an interpretation ; they’re not a record, and they’re irrelevant if you have the facts.”

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