i contemplated directions to another chain-mass-market for cigarettes, toilet paper and $2.97 blackberry wine. it�s a fifteen minute drive of fresh air and sing-alongs with the ipod, when i�m too afraid to dial your number. you make me nervous, feeling incompetent, and uncertain of my ability to be a seductress or a companion
padding away hours until it�s feasible to sleep. thai noodles, nachos and generic soda; internet friendships teetering on the edge, trudging through boredom with fiction in an attempt to become drowsy
pointless and without aim in my entry, lazy and caffeine-laced. i�m quiet and patiently thinking of you; i�d craft a lovesong out of it all if i knew how to play or knew anything of theory. but my Yamaha gathers dust. this karaoke-cover-queen has only others� words and melodies to get the message through (for now�)