Four: She knows and it shows

It seems like I can't take the thought of anyone having a problem with me. I always need to square every ordeal away, to compromise and set the record straight. I do what it takes to fold. Whether I believe I'm right or wrong, I must arrange peace. I'm not sure this is an admirable quality. It might make me a good diplomat, or a shitty lawyer.

This was what I realized when I went Christmas shopping this afternoon. Eric and I went to the mall after having a brief disagreement with Brandon about the nature of Christmas gift-giving. In recent years we've each gotten a name of one of our aunts and picked out their gift, putting all three of our names on it. We then rotate the next year. Somewhere along the way Brando believes we've gotten mixed up, because he believed he was in charge of one aunt, and I was intending to go shopping for her. He pressed the issue, getting kind of in a huff, and I realized how little it ultimately mattered who shopped for whom, as we were meant to spend equal amounts on each, and ultimately, they're from all of us. It's a matter of pricniple I suppose, and on the facts themselves (he hasn't bought aunt Lori a gift since Music World existed,) he's right, but that's ultimately not that important. It bothered me that it bothered him. This is not the first gift-related disagreement we've all had. It bothers me, and it taints what should be a pure, joyous act, gift-giving, with pettiness.

Eric and I pondered this as we sat in the food court eating lunch. Chris F. and Lauren actually came by, not surprising, as I've always known that eventually, everyone passes through Oakville Place at Christmastime. We said a few hellos and they were off, and then Eric and I got on with our shopping.

I think I'm on the downslope of a light cold. During the day, apart from some strained vocal chords, I've been pretty good, but I keep waking up in the middle of the night, hacking and snorting, my sinuses and thorat coated with phlegm and lung-butter. It's disgusting (so I've made sure to document it in detail here.)

I keep having weird dreams. In one, we're trapped on a stopped train. On naoter, I'm being chased through (Robarts Library?) by an old friend firing lasers at me while I duck and evade trying to reach some goal, back and forth. Weird.

I'm procrastinating. I should be studying my ass off. I'm too cavelier. I certainly don't take my studies as seriously as I ought to. Ought implies "can." I learned that in philosophy. A lot of this, I know. I don't know what I'm supposed to know.

My grandma is staying with my aunt in Toronto so for whatever reason we have to look after her dog. I don't know why. I understand why we look after the dog when she's in Nova Scotia (although I don't particularly care for it,) but this is just Toronto. I'm miserable. The dog won't shut up and we have nothing to please her. Fuck, fuck, fucker.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott