that old devil called love

One day in the very near future, I'll be overcome with a feeling of super-human productivity and will accomplish a week's worth of work in the hours between my REM time. That day is not today. Which is not to say that I'm not burning out in an attempt to make today that day.

Some days I wish January was a person so I could tell it to go eat someone else's life for once. Today is one of those days. It's becoming apparent that anyone can tell how depressed January makes me by how many boxes of bunny pasta I consume per week. The number, since the first, is appalling.