Feeling: pflbbt
Listening to: Lifehouse - Quasimodo
Reading/Watching: the backs of my eyelids

::Pflbbt::

That's the sound of me collapsing into a puddle of pooped-ness.

Last night, four hours singing for Kol Nidre, today, nine hours (nine hours) singing for Yom Kippur and Neilah. Granted, I got a two-hour break in the middle, and went home to grab some food (although technically it's a day of fasting... dang crazy Jews; nine hours of prayer and sermons and you just listen to the symphony of your stomach attempting to eat itself all day?), but overall, nine hours. Standing. Occasionally sitting for five minutes, only to pop back up again and sing some more. This even beats last weekend's three-day Rosh Hoshanna marathon.

Bright side? It's going to be a very, very merry Christmas this year.

Driving home, I was so exhausted that I couldn't even gather the energy to gripe at the people who drove slowly in front of me. Normally I whip out these long, cutting strings of superlatives wrapped around insults to amuse myself when I'm barricaded in by old people who can't seem to remember that the dotted line down the middle is not meant to be straddled.

Today, the best I could muster when someone decided to make a complete stop before going over the railroad tracks (which do have lights and safety arms, by the way) was, "Crap... jerk... person!"

Bleh. Plus my half-dead nail, the one that's been sitting semi-attached on the end of my index finger since I smashed it in Bri's wheelchair, chose to catch on my choir robe today and rip off. I'm left with the mother of all hangnail wounds and an odd, dwarf fingernail.

Going to bed. Probably best not to talk to me tomorrow; I just might call you a crap-jerk-person.

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