I think I kind of freaked my mom out today.

We were discussing how relieved we were not to have the dog, and I said, "There IS balm in Gilead!"

I was, of course, referring to 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe, where the narrator is asking the raven if there is release from his sorrow -

On this home by horror haunted–tell me truly, I implore-
Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell me–tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And you would think she, of all people, the Yale philosophy major of all things, would understand my rediculous and obscure literary refrences!

Instead she just kind of looked at me, and I think you could hear a lone cricket chirping in the background.

I'm turning into an 89 year old English professor at the age of sixteen.

Someone, please stop my wild ways.