As much as I'd love to say that I spent the last week galavanting about the countryside engaging in high-falutin acts of extravagant grandeur, I spent the majority of my week developing an extremely close relationship with a box of kleenex. Well, several to be in fact. So I guess one could say that I've been very fickle with about five boxes of kleenexes. Kleenex? Kleenexs? Plurality is so arbitrary. Then, again, what isn't with the English? In any case, I'm sure the gossips will be at it tomorrow about my string of affairs with multiple tissues.
Yes, I lead a grandiose life.
The other eve as I was driving back from night class, I experienced a spacial life altering event. And by that I mean a cosmic life altering event. And by that I mean an outer spacial life altering event. There's really nothing like driving on an ill-lit back road at dark when it's lightly blustering out. The snow comes straight at the windshield. It took me about 15 seconds to figure out why I was so entranced by this visual effect and plumbing the depths of my philosophy to figure out the gravity of the situation: hyperspace.
I was flying the freaking Millenium Falcon. That's right.
Luckily, I have yet to piss off Lando Calrissian and as I don't have Cloud City on my destination list, I'm not concerned.
Carbonite is so not my thing,
M
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