Once in a while that lovely little occurrence happens which drives me to an inevitable black hole of non-productivity: life. Life, oh dreaded mundane life. It strikes when I least expect it. Pouncing from the shadows, tempting me with it's comfort. When it happens, I grip on to whatever support I have around me, hoping I won't fall in. But it grabs me by my ankles and eventually pulls me towards the event horizon. After that, all hope is lost, and I've forgotten how I got there in the first place. Comatose and secure in the pleasantness of the black hole, I'll make it home and stay there. I'll get myself some snacks, turn on some television, load up some video games, and I'm in for the long haul. Forever forming a depression into the seat beneath me.