I woke up to a sour-smelling apartment this morning. Seems I tipped over the vinegar under my sink last night. The lid was slightly ajar and the rest is pungent history. So I'm spending my time as far from the kitchen as possible, in my bedroom. I'm sitting here staring at my unmade bed, my floor obscured by clothing and several projects beckoning on the dresser. And I just feel like sitting here. I'm not so sure if I should blame it all on my natural ability to sit on my butt happily, because I'm not really today. But I'm OK with blaming January.