…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.

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.

I’m a night owl, and generally function far more effectively between 10pm and 8am than I do during “normal” working hours. In fact, I’ll get more done during one all-nighter than I did the previous 5 working days. This may simply be a sign of my hummingbird-like attention span, or it might mean that I’m supposed to be nocturnal and should just go with it.

But either way, one 48-hour day a week is pretty much the limit if I’m going to be at all productive. So why, why, why am I staring at my laptop and a long list of to-do’s at 1:30am with only one night of sleep under my belt since the last time I was in this position?

At least this time the thermostat is working.

So! I’m taking a quick break from the drudgery to blog, because I love to blog and because you love it when I blog. So let’s begin with this:

Ah Brett Favre, when will you finally retire? Still sexy though, still damn sexy. Ah yeah.

Also decidedly sexy is the great guru of calm, Cesar Milan. Yes, it’s true, I’ve got a crush on the Dog Whisperer. What can I say? Any man who can tame a snarling Rottweiler, convince a dippy spoiled rich chick that she needs to stop buying her Pomeranian (named Prada, I’m not kidding) Gucci sweaters and Evian, and still sound just as smooth as Antonio Banderas as Puss-in-Boots gets my vote.

Except for two things… One, he isn’t the original Dog Whisperer – Paul Owens is. But since Mr Owens lacks the sex appeal and Southern California clientele, I guess he got the boot. And the second thing is – well, it’s the Landrollers.

I can’t decide if they’re seriously, seriously dorky, or if I want a pair.

Speaking of dogs, it has recently been discovered that my puggle is actually part mogwai and part gremlin. Interchangeably. On her own whims.

Yeah. Just like that.

She’s frickin’ adorable though, honestly. No matter how many times she craps on the floor, pees on the couch, or refuses to come when I tell her (oh Cesar, where are you when I need you??), I can’t help but be completely in love with her. The vet says she weighs 12lbs and is almost fully grown – I swear she’s at least 15lbs, but I’d be thrilled if she stays this small! Much easier to carry up the stairs.

I love technology. It lets me show everyone how frickin’ adorable my puppy really is. (If you can’t link to that for some reason, try this. I promise it’s worth it.)

On a down note, I am still in shock over the death of Heath Ledger. I’m not a star-chaser, and I generally think people who obsess over the lives of Britney and Lindsay and Paris and whatnot are pretty sad. But Heath was really talented, and was one of those people you just don’t expect to lose from the world. I can’t explain it – it’s just that he was young, attractive, successful, and part of my life via his roles in movies that I’ve enjoyed (10 Things I Hate About You, A Knight’s Tale, Candy), and he was someone you’d just never expect to lose in this manner. I can’t decide if I’m glad or not that they’re saying his overdose was accidental. It’s easier for me to identify with someone in his position who was losing their grip on themselves and their reality, someone in the limelight who was deeply lonely (a la Owen Wilson), than to think that he just partied too hard one night and whoops! OD’d. And don’t even get me started on the fact that an Olsen twin was involved. That’s just embarrassing.

Also embarrassing, Tom Cruise. Just in general.

So most of you know I used to live in LA, and while I was in LA, I sang a cappella with the SoCal VoCals, and when I sang with the VoCals, we recorded a few albums with Gabriel Mann. I adore Gabe. He’s a monster in the studio, a brilliant songwriter, and one of those guys who has made being kind of geeky completely hot. Dead sexy.

See what I mean?

I’ve also performed with the lovely and talented Kyler England, another LA resident, and am completely and totally in love with the music of Adrianne. Her EP, boy songs, is one of my favorite albums right now – versions of “Eleanor Rigby,” “I’m on Fire” and “Girlfriend in a Coma” that are just phenomenal. Amazing.

I tell you all this so that you’ll understand how overcome with both excitement and envy I was when I was told that Gabe, Kyler and Adrianne have formed a power trio, The Rescues. They’re touring a bit, they have songs up on their MySpace page, and I’m currently trying to figure out how to get their debut CD. I would have ordered it without hearing a note. The combination of these three is just…good god I’m jealous.

Okay, it’s almost 4am and I’ve got to hit the hay so I can push through tomorrow. I’ve only got a few days left to finish a whole slew of things, and then Adam and I will be on a plane to Budapest. Yes, Budapest. We’re backpacking around Europe for a few weeks, which I’ve always wanted to do and have always managed to not do. So Budapest, Prague, Vienna, Paris, who knows? We’ll wind up in Amsterdam, and then I’m back in time to hit the road for more college touring in February.

I’ll be blogging from overseas, don’t you worry.

A few of my favorite things:

Having my ass rubbed with mint lotion by a man named Klaus
The new Gibson Robot Guitar
Watching Evey drink water out of a Dixie cup

…Realizing that the man named Klaus who was rubbing my ass a few hours ago is not listed on the spa website…

Gary Graff, the journalist from Billboard and Rolling Stone, did one last review of all five Singer / Songwriter finalists. He seems to like me, and that kicks ass. You can read it right here (as you’re voting, of course!).

And on top of that, I spent the day today hanging out with the newest Julie Moffitt fan. I’d like to introduce you all to Evey: