…and therefore living in the bathroom full-time for a while. She gets bored with her toys, and has shredded 3 rolls of toilet paper so far.

But now she’s just being ironic.

If you’ve been unaware of the LOLcats phenomenon, click the link and be prepared for really awful grammar and really cute pictures.

Not to be ignored, dog lovers have joined in with LOLdogs (for some reason, the link is “ihasahotdog.com“). A few choice samplings from today’s page:

And my personal favorite, a tribute to Richard Gere:

After 54 hours with almost no sleep (just the flights from Chicago to Atlanta, then Atlanta to Austin), I was somehow still pushing through last night around 1:30am when I realized that I was probably close to hallucinations. I’m pretty damn impressed that newsletter I sent out was coherent…re-read it today a little worried.

Didn’t actually fall asleep until closer to 3, of course…

So then today when the alarm went off at 8:30, you can imagine how interested I was in getting up off the couch. I didn’t force myself up to my feet ’til 11:30, and even then, it took a long shower, Starbucks, and then a walk to the cafe down the street to get me feeling even remotely human.

Which sucked, because it meant that I missed the majority of the American Songwriter Magazine party I’d planned to attend from noon to 5. In fact, by the time I’d oriented myself, gotten back to my friend’s house, packed up and called a cab, it was almost 3pm. And by the time the cab actually arrived, 4:30. 4 frickin’ 30.

So…instead of posting about SXSW, which I’ll do tomorrow from the airport, I have a confession to make here, and I’ll ask you to forgive me for dropping my usual sense of playful sarcasm and essential optimism. I know you come here to be entertained in some way (hell, I file my favorite blogs in a bookmark folder called “Entertainment”), and I love that you enjoy reading my random thoughts and experiences. But the thing is -

I’m tired.

Not just tired. Exhausted. Worn down. I have always pushed myself hard, staying up late to write papers, setting steep goals for myself, aiming in 5 different directions at once and expecting nothing less than success in every endeavor. Sometimes I accomplish it all, once in a while I don’t, and when I stress myself out beyond the point of recovery, I step back and reprioritize and make it work as well as I can.

But lately, I’m just tired. The list of things that could, and should, be happening (book gigs, finish new press kits, start recording new CD, promote current gigs, get more radio play, find the money to pay my student loans next month, etc…) is just getting longer and longer, more involved and time-consuming, while my resources dwindle farther and farther.

Don’t get me wrong, I have friends and family and all of you, of course, and I’m not sitting here wallowing in some kind of imagined isolation. It’s more like… Okay, you know how you feel the morning after you’ve stayed up all night partying, then passed out drunk and dehydrated? Kind of cut off from everything, senses dulled and reaction time sluggish, knowing there are probably things that you were supposed to do today but…somehow unable to put forth the effort to put one foot in front of the other, to answer emails or make phone calls, or even consider interacting with other human beings in a friendly or positive manner.

I feel that way almost every day right now.

No, I’m not drinking too much or doing drugs – hell, the one margarita I had tonight with dinner got me loopy. I’m definitely not living as healthfully as I should be, but I think the thing is that I’m just…tired. I would kill right now for 3 days in a row, 3 days where my laptop and cell phone were turned off, when Evey would stop chewing on the pillows and scratching holes in the rug, when absolutely no one would expect or even ask anything of me all day long. Just 3 days, long enough to revel in the feeling but no more than anyone else would ask in a “real” career – I mean, who doesn’t love 3-day weekends?

I know I’m not the only one who would love such blissful freedom, even for just a few days. You’re out there. You’re not even reading this anymore because you’re fantasizing right now about lying in bed with the last Harry Potter book, or renting Seasons 1 and 2 of Weeds and watching them all in a row while you eat big bowls of Lucky Charms. We all want to be kids again once in a while.

But even now, in the 2 hours since I’ve been back on the couch after leaving 6th street, I have already labeled miniDVs from today and the end of my college tour, answered a slew of emails, added a new gig to my BlackBerry calendar, made a few more DIY Rockstar discs for tomorrow’s show, and written this blog. I should have been asleep at least an hour ago. Instead I’m wondering if there’s anything else I can cross off the list before I completely pass out.

I’m completely and utterly exhausted.

And I need to buy more comfortable boots.

During SXSW – and less noticeably during the rest of the year – everything changes as you near Austin.

At O’Hare, it is a novelty to be seen carrying a guitar through the terminal. I often find myself engaged in the same conversation over and over:
“Yes, I play guitar.”
“Really, you played guitar in (high school / college / your brother-in-law’s band)?”
“Yeah, I play piano too.”
“My music? Well, it’s usually compared to (Norah Jones / Fiona Apple / Jewel / Sara Bareilles).”
“Haha…no, I won’t be playing the guitar on the plane, but if I do, I promise I’ll play Freebird.”

Little girls gaze shyly at me in the hallway. People are friendly.

In the transfer airport, this mood experiences a sharp shift as soon as I approach my gate. Everyone on my plane is a musician, or an A&R guy, or a sound guy, or at the very least is so desensitized to music and the whole music scene that I am not only no longer a novelty – I may as well be back in high school. At best, I am completely ignored; more often, I am regarded with an air of disdain, other musicians/A&R guys/sound guys sizing me up, determining with a focused sweep whether or not they know me and if I look like someone who will threaten their status.

I find it completely amusing, not threatening, but it certainly takes away much of the welcome vibe I used to feel whenever I visited Austin. I have friends here, and I love the weather and the city, and for quite some time I was planning to move here, before I landed in my much-loved current home. Now, though, I can’t imagine why I’d want to take myself out of the larger world where my chosen career is still something to be intrigued by or even admired and force my way into this hyper-competitive population.

Besides – I simply cannot understand why there aren’t any attractive, decently groomed men in the music scene around here. The guys headed to SXSW were blatantly obvious: tallish, extremely skinny, dressed in dull ill-fitting clothes (usually including a ratty blue hoodie) and hiding lazily under a curtain of shaggy, dirty hair. Do what you want, present yourself however you see fit, and if that’s the way you think your music is best represented, then fine.

But yuck.

I love flying. I know some people hate it, and I won’t lie and say I even love the security check lines or the dry recirculated air, but the truth is…I kind of do. I spend so much of my day isolated in the apartment, with just a puggle and TiVo for company while I work, that the novelty of the airport and all its quirks is invigorating.

And thank god for that, because I am a zombie today. I’ve spent the past 5 days working nonstop to create a new press kit – an idea Adam and I had almost a year ago but, being the procrastinator I am, I didn’t start until last week – and slept an average of 5 hours a night, with no sleep at all last night.

Caffeine no longer has any effect on me. No, that’s a lie – caffeine actually puts me to sleep, completely knocked out within half an hour of drinking it. Whatever that means is happening in my brain can’t be good.

Case in point:
I arrived in Atlanta for a long layover a few hours ago, and went wandering toward the shops in a sluggish haze, having consumed half a latte at O’Hare before boarding the plane and promptly passing out cold. I went to Bath & Body Works, hoping for something to both refresh my senses and nourish my cracked, dehydrated hands (dessicated, that’s a good word for my skin right now – I rocked the GRE).

I was in Bath & Body Works for close to half an hour, rubbing different creams into my hands and breathing in peppermint and lavender to wake my ass up. Eventually, I left, got a piece of pizza, and played around on the internet for a while. Then I decided to head toward my gate, and as I passed the Bath & Body Works again, a strong sweet scent caught my attention.

Looking into the front of the store, I couldn’t miss the giant purple Sweet Orchid display – two tables decorated with lotions, scrubs, creams and sprays all in the newest B&B scent, topped off with a giant (not kidding – towering at least 3 feet over my head) slowly twirling faux orchid plant.

This wouldn’t have shocked me so much if I hadn’t just been in the store an hour earlier and not seen any of it. So I went in and asked the woman at the counter, who recognized me (guitar cases make it very difficult to travel incognito), how long ago they’d set up the display.

“Um, over a week ago,” she replied, looking at me suspiciously.

I am so tired that I am completely oblivious to my surroundings, even when they involve giant spinning bouquets of flowers.

I will now enjoy my Ben & Jerry’s Mint Chocolate Chunk hot fudge sundae.

I realize I haven’t posted anything in a while. I’ve been planning to post everything about the trip to Europe, therefore holding out on new information until I handle that, and having no time for any of it! Ayee.

Screw that. I’m just going to go back to my usual random blogging and get Europe up when I get it up. Sorry for the delay on that, I’m a bit of a perfectionist and don’t want to just throw some pictures in a gallery and leave out the fun parts.

I’ve been a bit of a crybaby lately, I have to confess. I’ve been a little stressed about a project I’m working on (a new kind of press kit, very unique and professional) so little things like the puppy refusing to stop climbing all over my lap while I type, or my computer refusing to print wirelessly since I upgraded my operating system, just throw me over the edge. I know, I know, I seem all cool and collected and laid back and such, but I gotta tell ya, I can be a huge baby.

Today the clincher is Robert De Niro. I’m watching AMC while I work, and the movie Awakenings is on right now. Robin Williams is great, don’t get me wrong, but when Leonard (De Niro) wakes up after 30 years in a catatonic coma and sees his mom for the first time…ah shit, I’m tearing up again just typing this. It’s just…it’s just amazing how that man could completely embody a grown man and a little boy, someone both damaged and completely innocent, all in one slow smile… That man is a fucking brilliant actor.

And I’m just going to give up on mascara altogether.