Fried brains

Not talking about some evil culinary disaster here; just reporting on my current condition. And no, neither alcohol nor illicit substances had anything to do with it.

I've mentioned the strange computers-gone-wild behavior of the car I drove to my meeting yesterday. One of the symptoms/results was a convertible top that would lower just fine, but could not be raised. There must be some emergency procedure to raise it manually, but I couldn't find it and was behind schedule anyway.

So I was out in the sun for four hours, noggin protected only by a cap. Supposedly, the temperature was into triple digits for the majority of my drive (a time/temperature sign I saw on my way home told me it was 97 at 3:30), and it is a well-known fact that sun-baked concrete/asphalt is hotter than the air.

By the time I got home, I felt totally burned out. Literally as well as figuratively. At 7:30, I stopped fighting the funk that descended on me and went to bed.

And woke up four hours later when some inconsiderate fool started blasting rap at high decibels in the alley below my bedroom window. I never did quite get back to sleep when that stopped; just drifted in and out of consciousness.

This morning? Don't ask. Let's just say I'm not really here.

Doesn't let me off the hook on a deadline that strikes today, though. I'd better get on with meeting it.

A glimmer of hope: in reading back, I see that I spelled words correctly here (all, I think, but I'll have to look again later) and formed them into coherent sentences. Semi-coherent, at least.

I was right: I can write in my sleep.

Or even when I'm comatose.