Sunday. Spinach and feta cheese croissant, blues music alternating with Coldplay, and me on the sofa with a big black jacket because of the cold, determined to end my email backlog, and to end it here and now.

I am looking forward to it being warm again. I am looking forward to people being here again.

Okay, email backlog. Let's scope this out a bit; there are 763 messages I've got to get through, some of them over 2 years old. Some I'm afraid to reply to; some I haven't had time to read. Some I shouldn't reply to at all, but haven't brought myself to cave into that realization yet. It's dumb, but I worry about having an email backlog far too much. It's the constant tinny ringing noise of things that haven't been done. And it bothers me.

Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You filled my inbox. Prepare to die.