I am exhausted, so I will let another writer update you on my life post-Christmas:
"I do hope the festivities were kind to you, Best Beloveds. I myself spent the duration lying on the sofa and sincerely hoping that someone would shoot me through the forehead. I find there’s nothing quite as effective as Christmas for bringing out all those especially rampant viruses – the ones The Body of the self-employed person saves for rapid deployment as soon as a proper holiday is declared. This is, quite simply, revenge upon The Mind for the rest of the year’s truncated nights, double-booked evenings, hair-tearing afternoons and rewrite-and-email-haunted mornings."
To use Kennedy’s phrases and capitalization: my Body took a vacation, or should I say, went on strike, as soon as my Mind decided to take time off after handing in The Research Paper.
Since time “persists merely as a consequence of the events taking place in it” and I didn’t do anything during the holidays, my Mind believes that no time has passed since December 17th. This means that there has been no Christmas vacation.
As a result of this injustice, my Mind is threatening to go on strike. So, if this blog becomes quiet for a few more days than I would like, it’s because I have temporarily stopped thinking.