What Year Is It?

Despite my intentions to write more clearly, the words squeezing from my pen grow more and more indecipherable. 

"I'll just close my eyes for a second," I think, but the notebook is already flat on my chest, and I'm unable to keep my eyes open, regardless.

I awake an undetermined time later with the cat on my chest, flexing her needle-like claws through my shirt and into my skin.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask her, but she just blinks and purrs.