It's the most wonderful time of the year.

There'll be foreigners crying
Advisors are sighing
No time for good cheeeeeer
OOOOOHH it's the most wonderful time
of
the
YEEEEEAR [!]

Fear not, ye few but faithful. As I navigate my own, private hell (paper after paper and a project with a partner who, at her sharpest, has the mental acumen of a Tupperware container full of sun-baked German potato salad) and my work hell (Mr. Rotolli, sir, I am starting work tomorrow, I don't have the requisite forms filled out at all and my employer has vowed to call and email you every twenty-seven seconds until you break down and authorize me for employment. Did I mention that, with my $15,000 signing bonus, I will make seven times what you make in a year in the span of four months? I know because I checked your salary out online), I will be unable to spend whatever precious time I am not working, sleeping, eating, or tending to my hellish needs in front of a computer this week.

Until Saturday, I remain,

Domonic