Deadlines have killed me. Even the easy ones. I've fallen asleep during things like The West Wing, which just isn't done. Everything's moving slower, everything's falling behind. I need to catch up. I need to blink - once, twice. Put a little something in my lemonade, take it with me.

Half awake.

Right now, I just want to dream of soft skin, butterflies and bluebirds. I'd be okay with that.