this is not my december

written at 1:43 p.m. on 12.01.04

It is 54 degrees outside. Complaints about the cold have been uttered by the majority of people on campus. I just sit by and laugh. Wimps. When you step outside and lose feeling in every part of your body that is left exposed to the air in a matter of seconds.. then you have begun to understand the true meaning of "cold."

I've been getting a lot of crap lately about the fact that I have a lot of "bubbles." Now, some people are more serious than others about popping my bubbles, but the questions have started forming in my mind regardless. My whole life, I've been a "princess," and at some point I became a "cookie," as well. I also plan to marry Frodo. I guess I've always enjoyed hanging on to dreams, no matter how childlike they may be. I never thought of myself as someone who is out of touch with reality, but if I am, I guess I'd like to stay that way. I don't know what to think.

I've always held the belief that it is possible to be both mature and childlike at once. My mother is a prime example. She insists on being called "The Queen" and on being treated as such. Then again, she can be incredibly mature if the situation calls for it.

Rawr. Stop popping my bubbles. I won't have an escape from this miserable reality without them. Maybe the bubbles got a little more numerous and monstrous this semester, but so did the problems and causes of stress in my life. It makes perfect sense to me.

Anywho, I miss Chicago again. I miss the snow, the real cold. I miss my December.