That much, my reckless band of feral readers, is clear.  Here I sit, a jellied mass of bruised and beaten brain, attempting a wide range of basic functions and failing at each.   My stooped and craning back aches as it slumps; my blackened eye sockets sink deeper and deeper into my skull; my thoughts crumble and fail to materialize; my arid and cracked tongue swells and garbles my speech.

The battle has ended, but the war continues.  Many a synaptic footsoldier did fall as I pushed my legion forward forward forward against the seemingly unending waves of model codes, federal statues, and restated judicial holdings.  A shattered phalanx, a decimated regiment; but ah yes…I crossed the Rubicon and now taste the sugary Triumphal Progression leading to the palace I’ve not seen nor enjoyed in a fortnight or four:  the soft and buttery folds of my tempur-pedic.

Try as I might, I cannot ignore the call of my genetic code.  With but a fine misty haze squatting in my head, a force stronger than my divine will beckons me.  And so I relent, and will shutter my eyes and dream of the final exams I somehow completed.  Pray that the nightmares do not extend beyond my slumber, for when I rise from my cave I may be greeted with the dreaded email, dispatched by the cruel and calculating administrators giggling as they destroy Christmas break by the dozen, releasing the sad and sordid curve and resulting grades just in time to make my season dim.

Be well, my adoring mass.  I shall return, a happier, healthier, and more coherent man.