What's the fun of fulfilling expectations, anyway? Since everyone else is using the date of 1 January to look forward, I thought I'd do the very definition of a 180 and look back in the opposite direction, knowing I'll end up revealing just as much about myself but in my usual thoroughly underhanded manner.So let's look backwards, to the day of my birth.

I know that several of my friends find astrology fascinating or deeply meaningful. I greet it with a healthy dose of skepticism—was the ephemera of my personality cemented into an ever-fixéd mark from the moment the obstetrician set my mother's C-section date? I don't know. It's the eternal question of destiny and free will. What is 'me'? Are personalities fluid or rigid constructs? Can we, fundamentally, change? Or do we spend our entire lives becoming what we were meant to be all along?

I had intended a post today of laughter and anticipation and find myself trying to write one of solace.Geof's sister-in-law Cindy died last night unexpectedly. They had very little warning.

Not that any amount of warning is ever enough.

It's been a long week.Without lapsing into a sea of complaints, I'll say this: right now, I'm overwhelmed and mentally exhausted. I knew going in to this job that there would be periods in which I simply wouldn't be able to cope with the tide of work, no matter how intelligently I planned my time or how many hours of overtime I put in. I'm sliding—fast—into one of those periods. I guessed rightly that it would be coming at the end of January, but I misjudged its strength and ferocity.

In the guise of aliveness, I present two things:THING THE FIRST: should you wish to continue the harmless cycle of attention-whoreness that Valentine's Day perpetuates, consider doing Valentines online. If for no other reason that if I see my friends doing this online, I'll feel less guilty about not sitting down and actually designing/printing/mailing actual creative/funny/amusing/thoughtful/touching/smarmy Vallies on my own.