I studied engineering at school. As such, I was presented with a particular distribution over written characters; any given piece of text I read had a fairly high probability of containing at least as many (or more) numbers and greek characters than alphabetic characters. It's just the way things are. And a lot of the letters that I saw weren't letters at all, rather just shorthand representations of the things we were actually interested in (the ratio of the diameter of a circle to its circumference, the square root of negative 1, etc). What I'm trying to say is that I don't have a lot of collegiate level experience with text, particularly original generation thereof.

Which is why, when I was rereading the last blog entry, I was a little confused by what I had written. Normally I don't bring up personal body issues like that (Is that true?). I realized that, due to my unpolished not-quite-to-the-point meandering style of writing, I forgot to complete the anecdote I had started. I'll pick up where I left off.

Like I had said, for a little while, I was going bare-chested. But, for reasons explained earlier, that had to stop. On my way to the bedroom, I noticed that there was a long-sleeved black shirt in the living room. It was a shirt that had ended up in my car during a bachelor party last weekend. It looked comfortable, so I put the thing on. And comfortable it was, at least for a little bit. But the thing is, everybody has a smell. And this shirt was someone elses and had their smell. And while Chris (the bachelor in question, and owner of the shirt [oh Chris, by the way, I have your shirt]) does smell good, he smells good like a guy. And having someone elses guy smell on me makes me uncomfortable. Kind of in the same way that the shape of Norway, Sweden, and Finland make me uncomfortable. Maybe it's a territory thing.