I don't travel in a pack. As much.
Walking "long distances" no longer means parking 50 yards away from the entrance to Target. Walking "long distances" means walking from the Mariott Center to the Elms.
I know how to cook raw meat, even if I still think it's incredibly gross and I always wonder what possessed the first person to eat it.
I understand what a credit hour means. (haha, I don't know why that was so confusing to me, my mom kept trying to explain it to me and I kept thinking, "oh my gosh, this is so complicated!")
Wards without children don't seem too quiet anymore.
I can find anything in the library (except for those dang chemical journals that they claim they have on their website and then really only have issues from 1967 to 1979).
I like to cook.
I know what it's like to fail a test, and I mean the dictionary definition of fail, not the Katie Andrus "anything below a B+" kind of fail.
I feel pretty comfortable in my own skin.
No comments:
Post a Comment