It's that timeof year again. January: the month when I start telling everyone that something is dreadfully wrong with me and that I've never, ever, ever been so tired or slept so much, and that I clearly have that sleeping sickness that was an epidemic in the 1920s. This happens every year, and every year I am convinced that this time it's something serious. But it never is. I'm just hibernating.
Somebody call me if the Zombie Apocalypse or a bunch of Alien Space Bats or the Flaming Ball of Doom 2012 shows up before February. I'll probably sleep right through it.
