Furthermore, hunger is never assuaged by pizza sans marinara sauce. Pizza should not be sans marinara sauce. Thus spoke Zarathustra. And me.
Lastly, I have an anxiety disorder and cannot work up the energy to worry about my work. Sleep is a foreign concept. How I long for the gossamer covering of that ephemeral blanket which used to soothe away the cares of all my days.
Now? I dream alarm clocks, when I do sleep. Rows upon rows of alarm clocks, going off (or, in one particularly terrifying dream, not going off, no matter what I tried to do to make them work) into infinity.
Wednesday next shall be my day of Jubilee. And lo, shall I endeavor to truly enjoy this day for all it is worth. If it isn't fucking freezing outside, which it so often is.
Forget all of that. Look at miserable sexy Ioan!cowboy. Look upon him and feel my despair.