So it turns out I'm depressed. Yeah, I know, I had the samereaction—it sounds like a lame Facebook status update—butapparently my doctor's convinced. I even have the little whitepills to prove it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The end of the holidays—along with the return to real life—hitme hard this year. I couldn't shake the lingering sense of dreadthat followed me around like the stench of a bad reheated lunch ina small office.

Then the sleep left me. It's true, we've never been the best offriends, but I'd lay awake for hours, burning through books likeTerry Jones, to the chorus of my dog and daughter's snores. Ofcourse, I'd stir awake a few hours later, slip the iPad off thenightstand and hopelessly reach for a few more minutes of sleep.The sunrise nearly always came first.

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