They won't let me sleep.

I don't know who they is, but it's 9:10 am and I can usually be counted on to have fallen asleep by 7 or so these days. Isn't there a critical mass of daylight hours during which one should be unconscious if one is to be properly considered nocturnal? Or maybe I'll just be stuck awake until my whole circadian rhythm cycles around and I'm diurnal again. But man I bet I'm in for some suckful, even-more-unproductive-than-usual daylight hours if that's to be the case.

Maybe it's the eight cups of coffee I've drunk since around 8pm last night.

Nah.

I think I'll pass the time with online shopping. I don't know how in the hell (so to speak) I got "low" on the prodigal/avaricious scale on that Inferno test--not only do I have an instinct to penny pinch (despite how things usually play out...), but I had an emphatic "yes" in answer to the question about enjoying shopping even if I don't need anything. That's the only time I do enjoy shopping. Free time and the holiday season do an especially effective job of bringing out my insidious, hypocritical materialistic side. (Incidentally, I can't wait to get back to school so that I can take unflattering photos of everyone for the "photo caller ID" feature on my new phone. My pretty, pretty new phone. But the phone doesn't count, since it only cost $3.50 with the credit and rebate.)

Yesterday I bought the Season 1 and 2 DVDs of NewsRadio on eBay for cheap. Most. underrated. television. show. ever.

Well, I could've told you that.

The wretched King Minos has decided your fate. His tale [sic] wraps around his body 5 times.

The sweet light no longer strikes against your eyes. Your shade has been banished to... the Fifth Level of Hell!

Fifth Level of Hell

---

The river Styx runs through this level of Hell, and in it are punished the wrathful and the gloomy. The former are forever lashing out at each other in anger, furious and naked, tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth. The latter are gurgling in the black mud, slothful and sullen, withdrawn from the world. Their lamentations bubble to the surface as they try to repeat a doleful hymn, though with unbroken words they cannot say it. Because you lived a cruel, vindictive and hateful life, you meet your fate in the Styx.

Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Moderate
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

All in all, I think I end up doing pretty well for myself. I'm in a river (and not even a river of fire, at that), and I get to tear people with my teeth. What's not to like? Granted, this is assuming I'm more wrathful than gloomy, which is debatable, but hey, I'll risk it.

But what up with gender being a test question?

Today I discovered that you can make a decent hors d'oeuvres out of Alouette spreadable cheese and Hormel pepperoni. I favor either the Spinach and Artichoke or Sundried Tomato and Basil varieties of the Alouette.

Is anyone else put off by the fact that we'll be through with half the decade in a matter of days?

Having thus created the blog, I have to obsessively adjust the fonts.

And thus began a beautiful relationship between Verdana and me.

So, a quick explanation of the title. One might read it as:
1) "withdrawn" meaning introverted; emotionally unresponsive and detached. But in a good humored way.
2) "withdrawn" being the past participle of "to withdraw," in the sense of recalling or retracting. In a good humored way.
3) an obscure Simpsons reference.

These, among other interpretations. Season Five was the best season.


I was just thinking, how appropriate it is that the French "une blogue," which is useful for facetiously referring to one's blog among one's pseudo-francophone friends, actually means "joke."

Then I remembered that it's "une blague," not "une blogue." Oh well.

I'm getting ornery; I think that means I need to go home, and by home I mean back to college. It was freaking 58 degrees today--what kind of winter weather is that?

This is what you do

...when you have thirteen days and three papers to write.

You start a blog.

And the peasants rejoice. I blame Rachel for this.

That's all for now, because I need a nap.