Seasonal Affective Disorder

I’m moving right along with Little Women. It’s so fucking charming that it makes me want to bake a whole goddamn cake just for funsies. Or maybe just eat one.

google_sketchAnd this is the Google Doodle today! It’s like I have ESPN or something.

Seasonal Affective Disorder, whose acronym seems so on the nose that it’s almost inappropriate, is actually less SAD and more APATHETICFATIGUEDBOREDANXIOUSLISTLESSHOPELESSSEDENTARY. For me anyway. For example, it’s taking me literal actual hours to write this fucking post.

We’re singing Beethoven’s Ninth in choir which I was really excited about, but as it turns out, singing it brings about this unfortunate paradox in which your throat is somehow dry while simultaneously fifty percent of the air in front of your mouth is filled with spit. The piece has no chill whatsoever. But neither did Beethoven. I mean, look at him:

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That dude has definitely spent some quality time with a Fleshlight.

Speaking of Fleshlight, I just Wikipedia’d that shit (if you only knew the internet spirals I’ve descended into over the years) and learned this:

“In 2011, the company that manufactures Fleshlight sent a complimentary package of its products to the members of the SEALs team that killed Osama bin Laden.”

I’ll let y’all meditate on that. Enjoy this shitty-ass weather, friends.

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