So.  Combine all of these if you dare.

I am already homesick.  Over the past week, I had no less than three appointments with various doctors, spent eighteen hours driving (one with my eyes dilated [my opthamologist says I have some yellow tint to my eye... nifty] and two under the influence of Tylenol PM), had no more than fifteen total hours of sleep (that’s what happens when it feels like someone is stabbing you in your jaw), was pressed into service for my church’s worship team, went to an obscure relative’s house for Thanksgiving Dinner, and was occupied neither by my laptop (left the charger at school) nor XBox360 (red ring of death).  Dang I miss home.

“Grazers” was worth fifty-six points for me with the triple word score and a double letter score.

I am joyful to be back.  I no longer have to compete over an infernal Dell/Vista computer from the pits of the abyss.  There is morning prayer just a block away.  I no longer have to drive an hour to meet my friends.

I am relieved.  I am still alive after a surprisingly wonderful meeting with some certain parents.  A little closure.

I just popped in twice the recommended dosage of Tylenol PM.

I am nervous.  I have an exam on Tuesday.

I found out my grand earnings for the past four months was… one dollar and forty cents.  My flimsy checking account interest…

I just impulsively spent two dollars and ninety-seven cents on Jon Mclaughlin songs on iTunes after seeing that concert some eight days ago.

I need to poop.

I just over-watered the plant I had ingeniously placed on the shelf above my computer.

I had a heavy conversation with a good friend over dinner.  A lot of it was personal to me and was about remorse.  And I question myself:  Did I take advantage of Anna in a time where she was emotionally dependent on me?  Am I remorseful?  The thought has crossed my mind, and it was one of those million things in my head at the time… at the time, maybe at best and yes, respectively.  In retrospect, no and no, very respectively.

The dinner was also particularly heavy.  And fishy.  And somewhat spicy at times.

I forgot my shower bag at home.  I wonder if anyone will notice…

I am tempted to run outside and write a message in the snow.

Kyle Orton threw an interception… but the dastardly Viking fumbled when stripped by the awesome-tastic Greg Olson.  Whew.  Wait.  The Bear fumble recovery was overturned upon further review.  Out-of-bounds,  they say.  Wow.  That there is the story of my life.

I am still lonely.  Fight…

I am thirsty.

My Grand-mama was just diagnosed with cancer.

I have not a single writing instrument other than my laptop:  All my pens are dry and my pencils lead-less.

I have gas reminiscent of someone who consumed approximately thirty-eight jumbo eggs and two and a quarter gallons of skim milk in the span of a week.  On the other hand, gas only milks me a buck-fifty a gallon down here (Oh my… so many puns.  My favorites being reminiscent and ‘buck’).

I am wearing my engagement present to my deceased fiancée.

My fantasy basketball team just took down the league leader.

My feet no longer hang over the edge of my bed.

I have a phone charger again.

I miss Mexico.

I less-than-three Farpar sixteen.

I have 38 unread cites emails.

…

… And I’m feeling lucky.