New Year's Eve, '07

My attempts at Cathedral Windows have yielded a disastrous pink gloop, inspiring Farah's First Law of Holiday Cooking: No recipe shall be prepared for a social occasion without having been tested prior to the day itself.

I'm running on just four hours of sleep. I'm tired and frazzled and not entirely here. My neural connections are misfiring. I said "dived" to a coworker who just might be becoming a friend, one who I would have liked to have think of me as intelligent and articulate and all that jazz but today I blurted that "I dived into the deep end of the pool..." and didn't even realize there was anything wrong with that. Blearrgghhh.

I'm taking a nap.