I love my family -- I do -- but I prefer life in the suburbs booking appointments and chatting scripts, and will probably never understand the driving need to vanish into the countryside, out of cell service and forty minutes from the nearest Starbucks. And this 5-degrees-and-freezingly-windy needs to stop. I'll take my 50 degrees and slight breezes rippling the palm trees over clouds of face-melting acid snow gusting down from the treetops like some sort of attacking elemental hawk.
I seriously ran out of time much quicker than I thought I would. I had been hoping to stop by and see people, to maybe do some writing, finish a few videos, perhaps shoot a new one, play video games with my brother, watch Die Hard for Christmas (or at least Home Alone, or even Jim Carrey dressed as the Grinch), etc. When the holidays only come once a year -- and you love them more than any other day or season -- it can cause a blow to your emotions to come back and feel like they cheated right around you and left you picking up the wrapping paper.
I saw Watchmen again last night. It wasn't nearly as good as I remembered.
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