Last week was sort of strange. That is, even without driving two hours north to view a jump-rope show put on by a bunch of kids in bright orange shirts, last week was strange.

This had a lot to do with my friend Corey who, out of the goodness of her heart, brought dozens of baked potatoes wrapped in tin-foil to school to hand out in what looked like an odd attempt to turn BYU Law into a soup kitchen (which may be fitting very soon if more of us don't start finding jobs). Her explanation: someone gave her over one hundred potatoes--so naturally she didn't know what else to do with them but bake for a full Sunday afternoon. Thinking these would be a nice Monday morning treat for one hundred of her closest friends, she piled them into grocery sacks and hauled them to school.

After several people reluctantly took the potatoes throughout the day (mostly out of awkward obligation) one girl briskly walked over and informed us that she had just found an article that explained that baked potatoes that have been wrapped in tin-foil and then cooled to room temperature have a frighteningly high probability of containing life-threatening Botulism. This was the first time in my life that I've ever heard an average consumer consider issuing a recall on baked potatoes.

Fortunately it seems I escaped unscathed--this is probably a result of being completely immune to absolutely every disease known to man (it's one of my New Year's resolutions). Either that or the gods don't have the heart to add face-paralyzing Botulism to my already severe cases of Tuberculosis, Ebola, Lohan (remember him?), Bacterial Meningitis, Tonsillitis, Pancreatitis, and the entire alphabet of the Hepatitisies. So it's either immunity or pity.

On a positive note: I have now gone seven weeks without taking either a sleeping pill or a Lortab. If I was in some kind of support group I would save that announcement for a really good time. Like when someone named Bob breaks down crying at one of our meetings because he made a level three Codeine shake the night before to wash down his last twelve Vicodin which makes Suzy scream out, "there's no hope for any of us! People can't change!" (I've clearly never been to any addict meeting of any kind--although I think I need to find one to help cure me of my incessant need of Mexican Food on a daily basis). But my hand is almost completely healed from the surgery and I'm finding natural ways to relax (in large part thanks to my flexibility class which is changing my life one day at a time).

Love you all.

~It Just Gets Stranger