Thanksgiving for me means two Thanksgiving dinners. One at my mom's—the traditional stuff—with turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, and turkey-shaped salt and pepper shakers. And then onto my Dad's for pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes. Yum.

Being home is weird. So are my old friends; they're all so different. It's amazing what you miss, how fast people change—what they become. What can I say. We each go our own ways and we're all better off for it. That's just how it works. I'm planning on hanging out with a friend tomorrow who I hoped hasn't changed like everyone else.

Remind me to drive the car while I'm home. I miss driving, and I'll do it even if it's just driving around this old town, taking the route I used to take to high school every day. I miss the radio stations here; I still haven't found one I like in Columbus. Driving with the radio tuned to WQAL—that's what I need. Oh—and a McDonald's cappuccino. It'd be like the good ol' days of skipping second period all over again.