Today is my fourth day operating under a critical lack of sleep. My recuperation habits have been pulverized by a wheelbarrow of bricks heaved from a skyscraper's height.

My skull is paste. My eyelids are trembling. The little capillaries in my eyeballs are pulsing and engorged with stale blood. I am ragged.

I'm not feeling sorry for myself, rather, I'm attempting to observe the results and symptoms with the utmost scientific objectivity. I may take poetic license in describing them, but don't think I'm whining.

My skin is rippling like light waves lapping on dry sand. It isn't firmly glued to my flesh, and I'm concerned that I might shed like a snake. The difference would be that I'd leave a wet bag of glistening inside-out skin behind instead of a dry husk.

I'm sure some spring ants would use their little mandibles to tear my steaming dermis puddle into tiny little giblets for their queen to gnaw upon. She would dutifully convert me into nutritious ant gelatin. In single serving containers.

I'm walking around like I have sailor's legs, but I haven't been on board a boat in years. The flat earth is seesawing nonetheless. My undigested food is enjoying the water park wave pool on the little Cherrios inner tubes littering the surface of my bile tank stomach. It's a nice relaxing comedown for a half-chewed celery chunk after the esophagus waterslide.

On my way to work I usually kill a hobo junkie with a broken pencil through the eyeball. I steal his syringe and drop it into my scorching hot coffee where it floats for ten minutes sterilizing. I withdraw it and shake it off like a thermometer.

I fill the syringe with my special brown syrup. The recipe for this wake-me-up is simple: boil a large bottle of Nyquil, several handfuls of freeze-dried coffee crystals, ten caffeine pills, and two cups of water for an hour or until the mixture is syrup. It makes for a rough injection, but I perform my job expeditiously all day long on that stuff. As an added bonus my coagulation time is tripled when I accidentally sever a limb. My blood is so adhesive I can just staple a finger right back to my hand with my trusty Bostich 7000 and I'm flexing and coring out earwax within minutes.

This results in numerous Frankenstein stitch jobs crisscrossing over my body like schizophrenic monorail tracks, but I like to think I've discovered the next big trend in body modification. Why get piercings or tattoos when I can have a map of Albuquerque on my torso?

As my day progresses I suckle from my coffee nipple. It keeps me happy and jumpy. You can never overdo the stimulants when you have a young heart.

I should probably get to bed early this evening. 8:11 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm