As I sit here in front of my computer in my underwear, unshowered, and unshaven, procrastinating about going to work, I stare at the detritus of my living room, with weeks-old mail strewn across the floor, and tangled up wires all over the place.

Times like this, I can't help but wonder: what the hell am I doing with my life?

And then I remember this: It is far too late for regret.

It's 53 degrees outside right now and there was a very recent time in my life when I would've classified this as a heat wave, what with it being December and all, but now that I've completely readjusted to sunny Southern California, all I really want to do is bury myself under my covers and wait until spring. I kind of wonder if seasonal affective disorder is simply a genetic anachronism from some mammalian ancestor that used to hibernate. Whatever it is, I've got it, and it sucks.

And why is it, that when I'm feeling really low, whatever the reason may be, I always find myself dwelling on the fact that I'm alone. Oh so very alone.

Ha.

It's time, meet me on the sunny road…