Snap your fingers in front of my eyeballs. I'm not here.
I got a jack-shit's* worth of sleep last night. I'm in a puppy-kicking mood. About to pass out. Or I might, possibly, forget to close the stall-door in the ladies room where I go to sit on the toilet to power nap. If I pull my scarf forward, taut, it's a face-pillow. But I have to hold it -- hmm -- really, it's a simple matter of tying it to something without hanging myself if I do fall asleep. Strike that. Bad idea.
This woke me up a little. Nellie McKay, the rare jazz-rap chanteuse. I swear the girl doesn't breathe once during this song.
For those keeping score of my cat-sitting escapades, I will be in charge of Nomar Rasputin Kittycat Mofo Garciaparra this holiday weekend.
* [1 jack-shit = .65 liquid dram]