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Ouch. My brain hurts. Not in the headache sort of way, either. It feels more like there’s a chipmunk nestled in my right (your left) frontal lobe (well, not ~your~ frontal lobe… work with me); as long as the little guy is sitting still, everything’s fine, but when he gets antsy I get pain. Although I read somewhere once (I think it was Michael Crighton’s The Terminal Man) that the brain doesn’t possess sensory nerve endings, making it one of nature’s great ironies: the organ responsible for coordination all our sensory perception is itself incapable of feeling. Regardless, my brain is certainly feeling something this morning, so now I’m pissed at Crighton. And chipmunks.

Guess how much sleep I got last night? Two hours! ["Dude, if you're gonna quiz me, there's gotta be a -pause- in there somewhere." Eff yoo, Mitch Hedburg.] I don’t know why, either. I went to bed at 1am, an acceptable time considering the amount of homework I have these days. And yet, despite my best efforts to shut my eyes and then keep them shut, I didn’t doze off until around 6:30am. My alarm did not sound friendly at 8:30am.

So I suppose I should go start to make the most of this beautiful day, because once this much of my brain has been ravaged by a sadistic chipmunk, all I’m really left with is Mr. Rogers. And a bit of Adult Swim.