Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

I should really stop titling these things according to the songs and Strangers With Candy lines tripping around in my brainium. But The Beatles and their simple songs are growing on me like a rabid, swollen fungus. I ganked a compilation album from Craig's roommate's car and now I'm thinking about lifting a few more from Long Island Sound. That's the music store. Ha ha, get it? Long Island Sound? Yeah, you don't. I'd tell you to look at a map, but it won't be worth it. Don't even bother.

I signed up for a mythology course beginning next semester and, hot damn, I'm excited. Coxy Noodle Nose and I had a lovely conversation last night. We decided that moving far away has tackled our quarterbacks. Lindsey, I'm sure you've got an amen. Still, as wretched and difficult and occasionally exciting as it is to build a comfy history in a strange place with only two Taco Bells and not a single goddamn Sonic within 100 miles, the shedding of former selves and itchy regrowth will prove a worthy experience. Then we'll die and our surviving relatives will stick our grody bodies wherever they damn well please. Hmph.

Speaking of bodies, I'd like to donate my Oregons. Write that down.