Thanksgiving! Such a strange American holiday. It's really a non-holiday, isn't it, so it's accumulated all these obtuse traditions: football, competitive shopping, Macy's Parade. I genuinely wonder what it's like for other Anglo-Christian countries who don't know when to start celebrating Christmas.

It's good to be home. Suburbia is neither inherently good nor evil; it's just a place that's comforting and boring and spread out. For about 10 minutes I went through a weird stage where I went around the house feeling all the knobs on every cupboard, drawer, and door, but it passed, and now it's just home again in all its normality. I'm skipping the usual romantic, retrospective blog that acts as if I'm the first human being in the world to go off to college and feel weird about returning home. If you've seen it in one of those really sad Publix Supermarket commercial, you're bound to read it here.

Studying with Kristen is exactly how it's always been. Jason's basement is exactly where we left it. That's good enough for me. As many of you have pointed out, this blog has become little more than Bitchfest 2003; and since I don't really see that changing in the near future, I'm going on... let's call it sabbatical, because it's a fun word to say. If I don't see you before New Year's Eve, don't do anything that I wouldn't do (which, apparently, is everything)...