Or do we soon forget the things we cannot see?

An overwhelming feeling of complete and utter depression just came over me, and I don't know why.

The room is finally clean. Now I have to tackle the other room. My old room that I lived in before I moved downstairs is being turned into a walk-in closet. The last link to my childhood is about to be disassembled and put away in little boxes. No more riding ribbons hanging on the wall. No more dance programs tacked up in order. No more Buffy/Angel poster.

Maybe I'm being over-dramatic. I didn't really like that room. My sister got the bigger one, although the bigger one was mine in the first place. But it was mine. And now it's not.

But we could use the storage space, I suppose.

Every time the phone rings, I wait to see whether it's a one ring or two ring call so I can figure out if it's a campus or outside call. And when I dial a number, it's weird that it has to be seven digits and not four.

It's getting easier. A lot easier.

Last night, I had a dream that I had a threesome with Kid Rock and Pam Anderson.

...

Yeah. That's what I said.

I don't know what's wrong with me, that's like the third sex dream I've had in a week. No, there were more. One featured Leonardo DiCaprio [wtf?], another David Boreanaz, and then two co-starred Adam. Weird.

I should be doing a million other things. Maybe I'll just go to bed.

I took my sister driving the other day. God, do I feel old. Nevermind the fact that I'm now technically a junior in college, the fact that my little sister is driving makes me feel like I should be playing bingo and knitting all the time.

I think I'll go read. I want to finish Of Human Bondage so I can put a dent in my big pile o' books.