Ask me when the last time I slept was.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT, BIZ-NACKLES!!

As a result, I am:
-- A danger to society when merging onto the freeway (yes, I drove 80 mph in this condition.  Be afraid.)
-- Running into door frames on the wall side.
-- Strangely subject to symptoms similar to crack.
-- Walking in front of oncoming vehicles without really realising it.
-- Speaking better in French than in English.
-- Strangely cognisant through all this.

As for the speaking in French better than English.... I talked to a real live Frenchman today!  In French!  (As opposed to a real dead Frenchman, but you catch my drift.)  M. Truax's friend Richard (who is a dead ringer for Louis XIV) called from Besancon!  We carried on a very nice conversation.  At first I was afraid to accept the phone because I read and write French so much better than my poor speaking skills, which isn't saying much (long story short, M. Truax cornered me by the door.  "I'LL RUN OUT, I WILL!")  I mean, it would kind of be like the Philosophy major having Socrates suddenly walk up and start philosophising.  But he was very nice, and pulled a dirty little trick known as "enchante."  I don't care if he resembles a despotic king from 325 years ago (I mean really, the likeness is amazing -- you should see it) and has metal (as in music) hair.  No matter who says it, if they're French it is the equivalent of.... Well, it has no equivalent.  But yes, that single word.... Holy crap.  I'm marrying a Frenchman.  I may feel hopelessly inadequate when it comes to conversation, but I'm marrying a Frenchman.