How did it get to be February?

Currently grooving to: Mazarin, Watch It Happen. (Thanks, Vinita!). I know Baby will like it; imagine a sound somewhere between Magnetic Fields and Modest Mouse, only nowhere near as annoying as the latter. With admirers like me issuing crap comparisons like that, it's no wonder they've called it a day. (I love it that Gracenote returns "folk" as the genre when I fire up iTunes.)

Can't believe we are now already into February, the shortest month of the year, and that there are barely 8 weeks left in the course. Which throws me into a mild panic, considering I spent most of January poking the proverbial pooch (academically anyway) and trying to decide -- unsuccessfully, as it turns out -- what the hell to write for my thesis.

Yup, the problem persists. But I've just got to pull my finger out, make a decision and stick to it. Because the other assignments are starting to pile up behind it, and they won't write themselves. I've got an outline due on Monday; maybe the Fear will put the wind in my sails.

I should be so lucky.

Actually, let me contradict myself here on a couple of points. One, I haven't exactly been slacking off; au contraire, I've been reading like a man possessed. On average I've read 5 books per week since the Christmas break. Unfortunately none of it has helped shed light on what to tackle as my thesis. If anything, it has only led me further down the rabbit hole and into a warren of dead ends.

The other thing is that I misplaced an entire week of my life somewhere. I now appreciate -- with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, of course -- that I was terribly ill, but did not realize it at the time. I came to that conclusion after (a) remembering that one night during my week-long bout of insomnia I actually fell asleep but woke up shortly thereafter, completely and utterly drenched in sweat, head to toe, as if I had taken a shower while sleepwalking, and (b) hearing everyone I know talk of this mysterious ailment that has been circulating recently.

Things are much better now. Oh, I still don't sleep at night; my entire spinal system is so contorted and wracked with so much pain that I keep getting jabbed awake by stabbing pains up and down my extremities, thanks to the medieval torture devices they call beds here. But at least the quality of my catnaps is getting better.

Getting old sucks.