Last night I had a dream during which I was helping Sherlock Holmes troubleshooting the wireless connection on his laptop. Looking back, he was probably more patient than is canonically accurate.

Also, this is probably the record for early arrival to work since I moved to PB. Awful, isn't it? I'm tempted to ask Santa to 48 hours of nothing -- no chores, no obligations -- to just sit around and sleep except, rather like the lyrics from the song "Stress" suggests, I'd probably hate it.

That's the tragedy of being a self-aware workaholic. You are very aware that you really have no one to blame except yourself.

Oh well.