So, in the words of Master Shake, "Whoop-dee-damn-doo."
On the brighter side, though, the past few days have seen me take the idea of sloth to new and amazingly slothful heights (lows?). Sleeping late, spending tons of time on my couch reading books by Al Franken, John Hodgman and I.B. Cohen (went big on the Franken today, with his 1999 faux-memoir of his winning the 2000 U.S. presidential campaign, Why Not Me — hey, he's mulling over a Senate run in '08, I figured this would put me ahead of the pundit corps), and admiring what is turning out to be a splendid sunset at this very moment... oh, the colours! If darkness is trying to overtake you, January the Third, you're putting up a valiant and iridescent fight.
Why does my neck hurt?
I hope it's not meningitis. My sister-in-law had that when she was a baby, and the fever was so high that she experienced profound hearing loss in both ears, and she's worn two hearing aids since childhood.* Apparently a sore neck is one of the symptoms.
Maybe it's just my pillow. I've been thinking it's too high lately.
Damn, I'm bored.
* This is entirely true.