After that bad acid trip, Jim's not in a good fuckin'
head space. He's running down the street, naked, screaming
Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird lyrics at the top of his damn lungs.
Not being a morning person, my head space is like
London fog in a room full of sharp objects when waking up. Coffee is the only remedy. Two pots worth. 1000 mg of Caffeine to be precise. And a line of yayo.