I hate weekends. I used to love weekends. What happened to me? For the past hour and a half, I've been sitting at my kitchen table pouring water from one pitcher into another then back again, and so on. I feel like I'm losing water volume. How can this be? My mom periodically asks how I'm doing, if I'm bored. Shut up I'm busy.

Looking back years from now, feminist historians will undoubtedly argue that this Christmas break has been a period of regression and degeneration for the Actual God. First off, I quit quitting gambling. I know, bad decision. But to all the naysayers, I ask: do you know how sick gambling is? I just won two Gs in like fifteen minutes while my mom was at the drug store buying me shock tarts.

I've also developed an unfortunate little prescription drug problem. I need to take antibiotics for my sore throat. But the pills are huge, and my throat is so sore. They're also white, chalky, non-gelcaps. Won't that scratch my throat?

To make matters worse, I've sprouted a sharp pimple on my chest that is super sensitive to pressure. Like when I push on it, I start worrying about my heart. Alright I'm lying. There is no pimple. I sense your doubt, and that's okay. You suspect that there really is a pimple, and I'm lying about lying to protect my fragile ego. I see no way to convincingly state the case without digging a hole for myself.

The ACTUAL God heads west tomorrow. My dad keeps calling to remind me to print out my boarding pass online. Fuck that. You print it out and FedEx it to ME.

Merry Christmas, infidels. Praise be to ALLAH!