Had a fine Thanksgiving meal with the Mormons yesterday. Two men in my section are Mormons; one is married with two children, and one is just married. Another non-Mormon student and I went over to the former's house, and had salad, stuffing containing two sticks of butter, twice-baked potatoes, honey-baked turkey from the store, and four kinds of pie. Then we played Taboo, Pictionary, and Guess-tures (a charades-type game). It was a nice time. I went over to the kidless Mormon's house afterwards and played video games. I got a video game headache afterwards.

It feels like a Sunday but it's Friday, and I'm sitting in one of the few libraries on campus that are open today. This is an undergraduate library, a nice five-level affair with beautiful burnt sienna chairs in the lounge area and Nordic-looking furniture. I'm at a desk by a window. The shade is half drawn. A flock of birds just flew by, making large shadows on the shade and reminding me that winter is approaching, and the birdies gone south.

Crimson City looks like a Hollywood set from here -- small streets and towers and iron details on red brick buildings. It's 12:30 in the afternoon and I haven't done any work since Wednesday, and not much then either. A balmy 60-degree day took me by surprise yesterday, but a chill wind blew in and the temperature dropped to a staggering 26 degrees by late evening. It's chilly today too, but not hat-and-gloves weather yet.

I've nothing much to complain about: the campus is blessedly emptied out for the holiday, leaching stress out of the atmosphere if not the body, and the sun is shining, albeit on its way down. It's terribly depressing to have the sun set at 4:30 every day. I don't know how the denizens live here.

I haven't talked to any family members or far-off friends yet for the holiday -- got some calls yesterday but couldn't reach them when I called back last night. It's okay. I don't exactly miss them; I don't really want to even talk to my folks in Washington. There are a couple people in the hall for the weekend too, and I hung out with them last night and this morning. They're my favorite people in the hall, so I'm glad they're here too. But I've got a strange feeling inside. When you're one of many, you feel like you could disappear and no one would notice. You know that feeling, don't you?

I'm in no danger of disappearing. No, I'm sitting here in a quiet undergraduate library with blonde Scandinavian wood furniture and sleek retro lamps. Church bells are ringing somewhere, and birds flying by, and it's very quiet in this library. I haven't disappeared. I'm sitting here, as real as could be. Yes, I'm here. I know I am.