This morning I am so tired I can’t even think straight.

I feel like I am swimming through pudding: I can move, but everything is slower and takes more effort. And I have absolutely no strength, as if all of my bones and muscles have been replaced by down pillows, and the only thing that lets me move is momentum and weight: I need to pause and set myself before I do anything, like I’m rolling myself to the top of a hill, pausing at the edge, and then — down I go. And then when I do it, since I’m still moving through pudding, I do it so slowly that my mind actually wanders in the middle of it — mostly just to say, “Man, I’m tired.” I’m drinking coffee, and I think the exhaustion beast that is prowling and growling and slouching around inside of me is laughing at the caffeine. Laughing at it. It’s like throwing water balloons at a five-alarm fire. Poor useless coffee.

It doesn’t feel terrible, actually. It feels like I’m just a little bit drunk, or just a little bit high. I think I probably should not drive at the moment. But I don’t plan to. Nor operate heavy machinery.

Nor lift up a heavy topic like the Second Amendment. Sorry about that. I did start to write about it last night, and hit a snag that I need to think about: my utter lack of respect for Antonin Scalia. See, Scalia wrote the 5-4 majority opinion in the D.C. v. Heller case, which is the one that establishes the individual right to own firearms under the Second Amendment, and the second I see that (though I do agree in some ways, as I’ll get into it when it doesn’t take me a couple of seconds to remember where the “c” key is) I just think, “Well, of course that’s bullshit, it’s Scalia.” But that’s not fair, because even partisan bastards like the former “Justice” are sometimes right in their thinking. So there are things I need to think about regarding the Second Amendment before I write about it, and this is not a good morning to start.

So instead, I’ll just see how much coffee I can mainline, see if I can wake up at least enough to do my job (Which first means I need to wake up enough to get to my job. And remember where my job is.), and then I’ll try to take another crack at the big issue tonight and write about it tomorrow morning. It may have to wait for a weekend, though. I hope the people reading this don’t mind a few posts about nonsense; I don’t have a lot else in me right now. Goosefeathers and pudding.

And this song. Which is a perfect song.