It’s late March.  Duke is the only #1 seed left in the tournament.  It’s raining like God wants to purge the earth of all evil.  And my ark sank because I filled it with Hostess cupcakes.  I am depressed; mostly because I just lost all of my cupcakes.  Not only does the weather suck, but my birthday is almost here.  Great. The sad truth is that I no longer get smeg-faced at the bar in celebration of my achievements as a young professional.  No, instead I up the ante to Amber Alert drunk, in order to forget the pain of still being a young professional.  It’s not that I want to hypothetically get hammered enough to abduct children, but it is necessary.  These are the dark sounds of each day passing while I lay awake at night.  My thoughts are what hold me as conscious prisoner, insomniac.  Well, my thoughts and the fire engine sirens screaming by all night from the station at the end of the street.  My thoughts, and the sirens, and the Asian Can Lady rummaging through our trash cans below my window at 3:00 AM.   My thoughts, and the sirens, and the Asian Can Lady, and our downstairs neighbors training for the World’s Strongest Man Competition from 4:00-5:00 AM.  C’est la vie.