Guess what? I'm not overly fond of spring. Yes, everything's fresh and verdant and flourishing with life, which is all very sweet and pretty, but it still doesn't hold the same appeal as its colder counterparts. Summer is slightly better, as it conjures up interesting memories, such as returning to a rustic glen shelter after a three-day backpacking trip to find a family of wolf spiders congregating on my bed.

I'm not going to be a counselour this year, so it seems. I'm to get an Actual Grown-Up Job and do my bit for the capitalist empire.

Incidentally, the third spider was found last night on the family-room wall. The Curmudgeon took care of that one. One day, we must all meet our trigonometry texts. Alas.

In addition, hopping on to another random topic, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra is glorious. I'm currently seeking Beethoven's Last Night, with snatches of Mozart's twenty-third symphony twirling through my head. Tra-la.

I encountered she-who-shares-my-surname during my quest, who was accompanied by her pentagram-draped mother, whom I've seen entirely too little of lately. So that was nice. Also ran into a lass at Jessie's workplace (after seeing Jessie herself, accompanied by Brandon and Another; Brandon, as usual, was the only one who seemed to see me. How comforting.) who brightly suggested that I pick up an application. Not likely, mam'selle.

All this occurred at the mall, as Medusa virtually marooned me there, ordering me to purchase at least one article of clothing. Lovely, that. And now, having exhausted my extremely limited people skills, I shall cease this silly verbalizing.

Adieu.