If the straightjacket fits...

...you should probably buy the padded room to go with it.

The migraine-plagued sleep deprivation has fried my noodle. Crispy. Burnt. Nothing but a black crust clinging to pure senslessness up there.

How did I come to this conclusion? Some of you are wondering, some of you knew it was inevitable.

*sigh*

I have amazed myself with this gleaming gem of stupidity.

Seriously, I deserve a mammoth-sized headsmack for this one. Maybe it'll shake something loose and make me a fraction of a fraction smarter.

I cannot even believe I am about to share this, but, well...here it is:

Last night, I get Nate to sleep at 8:30, and crash on the sofa for about 12 minutes of tv before I pass out. I emerge from my coma sometime around midnight feeling like crap from sleeping in a position resembling a week-dead squished crab. I debate sleeping there until morning, because getting up and walking ten steps to pee, then ten steps to bed is just way more exausting...then I remember that Orson, my recovering amputee cat, needs his meds and stumble blindly into the kitchen to get a glass of water to cure the horrible thirst I've acquired from sleeping with my mouth hanging open. I am immediately surrounded by savage starving felines and crippled by the deafening "MREEEERMREOOOOOWRRMMMREEERREEEEEEEER" that translates into "we will claw your sunken eyes out while you sleep, bitch, if you don't feed us...now!"

But first things first: Orson's meds. If I don't get that damn pill out before I go to feed them, I'll forget. I fumble with the non-childproof bottle longer than it would take a monkey to do an algebra problem and finally get the damn pill out set it on the counter, and climb over the baby gate to the laundry room to feed the yowling vermin now biting my ankles. While I'm back there, I realize the litterbox is in dire need of scooping. I turn to leave, thinking I'll get it in the morning....then I stop and think of all the horrible places I could be cleaning pee from (and only after the desperate sniff-search for the mysterious pee odor leads too, if ever, the scene of the crime) and decide i will sleep better not having to worry about that kind of stress.

Scooping is done and i head to the sink to wash my hands, grab Orson's pill...ummm, grab Orson's pill...where the hell is that damn pill?

I imagines Angus the Wise (aka- the dumbest cat alive) swatting the pill off of the counter and under the cabinet/fridge/stove/insert inconvenient space here....and curse him under my breath. AGH!

I am NOT looking for a damn pill at midnight, so I fumble with that stupid bottle again an retrieve a second pill, head over to the counter to grab my glass of water so I can just go on to bed from dosing the cat. Now, where's my dang water glass??? What..the hell?

I find it on the counter...empty...empty... yep that's it, empty. I know it was full...

Holy Jesus, I swallowed the pill...the PILL!!! THE CAT'S PILL!! Holy CRAP! What the hell was that pill, anyway? Please be something normal....*I grab the bottle*... 'amoxicillin'...OH THANK YOU GOD! I won't die. I mean...I won't die will I? This is a cat drug...it's from the vet...is it the same as human drugs??? Holy freakin' crap, I took the cat meds!!!

WHAT...is wrong with my brain???

There can't possibly be a brain left up there. I need to call the white coats, and arrange a fitting for my very own jacket, else I will surely kill myself in some stupidly horrific way before the week is over...the cat's pill!!!

So, you see? Brain crust, that's all I have left... The burnt crispy residue of insanity...

I think I'll take my padded room in periwinkle, please.