...Put on your gloves and your black pumps: let's pretend the fog has lifted. Now you see me, now you don't. Now you say you love me; pretty soon you won't. If we get our full three score and ten we won't pass this way again, so kiss me with your mouth. Turn the tire's toward the street and stay sweet."
Tonight the fog is zombie-movie thick and I am not dead. congested and overworked and underpaid and less than thrilled, yes, but alive.
The pressure on the sinuses doesn't help the general other pressures about. No one is being ignored save my computer. Andrew, it seems the pathetic package I sent has gotten lost in the mail. I'm rather used to that happening, but I have a better one about to ship, and there are copies of all the cds that were in the first contained therein.
Jesse, schedules permitting I'll see you soon, but schedules don't permit so much lately.
My brain wants out of my head.
"get me away I'm dying."
MUSIC: the mountain goats: Dilaudid
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