Good Grief.

As hard as I try not to, I find myself floating in that Charlie Brown state of mind when the “season” rears its head. The littlest tree in the lot. The pillowcase filled with rocks. I walk around with the Vince Guaraldi Trio pinging in my ears. It’s jaunty and a little forlorn. My head stays truthful, knows that egg nog and peppermint schnapps can only distract for so long. Something wicked this way comes.

Are you ready?

So, this thesis thing? What’s that all about? The pinnacle of my graduate study, you say? Man… That sounds pointy.

Dude. I get it.

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