Kenny Chesney understands.

^ Words I never thought I'd write. If you have any love for the beach in your soul, go pick up "Be As You Are," his second most recent CD. I, meanwhile, am going to indulge said love on Saturday with a week long vacation-within-a-vacation in Avon, when the town is blissfully free of tourists, somewhat desolate in the grip of winter, and incredibly cold, the kind of cold where the wind cuts you open and splashes salt water in your gaping wound while cackling, "Just HAD to come to the beach in January, didn't you? Sucker!"

The only remaining tie to the hell that was last semester is the insensitive little dash where my Spanish grade should be. Damn you, My American Dot EDU. You know that no matter how much I try I can't shut off the voices in my brain arguing about whether I still have a shot at an A in that class. You want me to torment myself. That's cool. After all, if our positions were reversed, I'd gladly gore you with a stake.

Speaking of gore, my Christmas present to Crystal was the Brothers Grimm DVD. It was surprisingly disturbing. A kitten got kicked into a machine made of blades and got sliced and diced. It was not Christmassy at all. The only way I've remained a functional, nontraumatized human being is convincing myself that it was a robotic kitten, with fake, Jell-O blood. The movie was good, though; I recommend it highly.

My room is a complete mess. I know I won't be here long enough to unpack my clothes, but it's kind of ridiculous to keep them crammed in a suitcase, so I compromised and scattered them all over the floor. The last three or four times I've been to North Carolina, I've promised my parents that I'll clean up before I leave... it never happens. I always rush off in a hurry, leaving a more-than-partially-concealed hardwood floor. I would say that it won't happen this time, but there would be no point.

My country music binge has continued, earning me such friends as Dierks Bentley and renewing my appreciation of Toby Keith. I pity my roommate.