This morning I woke up an hour before my alarm clock was set to ring. It was very cold in my room and my bed, even though I was tightly cocooned in my covers. I guess it's just reached the time of year at which I can no longer sleep in my panties only.

I'm listening to my roommate and his dad watch the Wedding Singer. Sometimes I wouldn't mind wailing "somebody kill me please" into a microphone. It's been so long since I've seen that movie, I'm amazed I can remember that's what I'm hearing.

Often I surprise myself like that. It happens mostly with things I remember about people. It just seems like all that information has nowhere to be stored, so naturally I'd forget it. But I can draw up so many things (my 2nd grade best friend's guinea pig and her trailer by the lake--spending hours with her by it without jackets in weather we should've had them on--driving the wagon around like it was a car) that have no real significance. It's just a time and a place. Maybe back then that's what really good was. I can't remember feelings so much as images (the lake was gorgeous at sunset in late fall) and actions. And I remember things I wish I could forget, things about my ex, things (like how awful our first kiss was for me) that make me feel repulsed and lonely at the same time.

For the past few days (and there's a strong possibility it is because I'm emotionally retarded as a result of my menstrual cycle) I have felt dissatisfied, lonely, annoyed.

The holiday season is starting, and there are people outside businesses taking donations and I've been giving them my spare change. I feel about as sorry for the people taking donations as I do for the people who are receiving them. It's just a little ironic because I happen to be one of those people who sees a beggar on the side of the road and proceeds to rant about how that person should get a job.

I was at Barnes & Noble today and the clerk asked me if I wanted to donate a book to an elementary school, so I bought them Anne of Green Gables. Literature. Hopefully some little girl will be as delighted when she reads it as I was, or maybe some little boy will wish his teacher hadn't made him do a book report on it.

I hate this season. Thanksgiving has always felt like a waste of time. I'm terrible at picking out Christmas presents. The only holiday with any merit is the one at the very end, New Year's Eve.

I'm counting on this one to be a good one. I may have my hopes up a little too high, in fact.

I went home early from work today; we were having a slow call day. I stopped by the coffee shop and met the new girl. I tried to drink a maple spice Italian soda. I had most of it and the rest I dumped out in the parking lot when I left. Good thing it was free.

After that I went to, as previously mentioned, Barnes & Noble. I got the November '06 issue of National Geographic and Wicked (of which I have read the first page and have positive expectations).

Still in search of things to do, I went to the sushi restaurant and ordered to-go. I watched a family at the sushi bar for a while and thought to myself that the husband must hate his wife for her haircut, and she must think he's an idiot. Their daughter will probably grow up and make them both look like complete assholes.

Sometime during my post-work car ride my brain got on the subject of etymology and how it, in addition to a relatively short list of scholarly things I like, could become my major someday.

It was an odd series of thoughts, really. I was thinking of myself like a she-Indiana Jones of nouns and verbs et al.

My imagination is running away with me. Paranoia. Pfft.