My seven and a half year old lap top may be dead, at the very least seriously ill. I will find out in the next few days if my data is intact and can be extracted. It's really effing cold outside. There's still a bag of cat poop on my back steps. I did not ace the Sunday crossword. This morning I got up to discover that Reid had devoured the last of the pumpkin bread. Welcome to my Sunday the Thirteenth! Let us hope that we do not suffer the effects of triskaidekaphobia this entire year. I'm going to need more lucky underwear.