And then there is the matter of Viggo's ass, though it makes entirely too few appearances.

I can tell that the weather is affecting me lately. Moreover, I can tell that my coworkers can tell that it's affecting me. This morning while I was doing my Morning Scrubbing of the Hands Ritual the new girl said to me, "Gotta make sure you get the cold germs off!" and I muttered "Yeah, all I need is a cold to make me even more cranky than I am already" and she replied, "Oh, I'm sure that's not true."

Fact: When someone says "I'm sure that's not true" they really mean "I'm sure it is."

Speaking of a history of violence, I went to my shrink a while back in the hopes of getting something "calming" in pill form, Now, I know that I *probably* don't need it, but, like one of those massage-y chairs you see in the AirMall catalogs on the plane, it would be nice to have. I tried the usual complaining-of-anxiety shtick, but fell short of the "seriously, being on the train makes me feel really uncomfortable and maybe a little bit prone to stabbing someone" act because, y'know, that takes a little too much Lee Strasberg technique and it can sort of backfire, leading to a weekend up at Bellevue wearing an I Love Me jacket.

Get this: She tells me that I'm not anxious, I'm just more depressed than usual** because of the shorter days and less daylight and whatnot. She gives me instructions on how to build a motherfucking light therapy box.

I ask you: Why am I ponying up the insurance copays for some 3-2-1 Contact bullshit? Gimme my fucking Xanax already.

You need the Xanax for when you are online trying to purchase Christmas airline tickets. N and I made the colossal mistake of promising every last member of our families we'd come to see them. Naturally we waited until now to get tickets.

I know that buying tickets online is the cheapest way to get them but holy cow I realized today that I would pay EIGHT GAJILLION SAMOLEONS to have someone else get the tickets for me. And I'd pay twice that to avoid going anywhere for Christmas altogether.***

Finally, there was the matter of the Starbucks this morning, the one right outside my subway stop. They put fifteen fucking tons of snow on the sidewalk...it was some sort of promotion. Was it supposed to look Christmassy? February is more like it. Slushy, dirty snow and dogpiss and rock salt: It was like making an appointment with your proctologist and having him show up a few days beforehand just to give you a little taste of what you were in for. Whoever came up with this guerilla marketing campaign join the liqueur purveyors in the group of people who will be stabbed in the eyes and sent back to hell.

*David Lynch probably has two of those three.
**Being called "more depressed than usual" makes me feel even MORE depressed than usual.
***I know that saying this means that when the vengeful Santa Claus returns from the dead to start the Rapture he will leave me nothing but a coal-scented Yankee Candle in my stocking. Just for saying that.