This is how it works
It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away
We tried to find some words
To aid in the decay
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again
On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo’s really long
But it’s a pretty song
We listened to it twice
‘Cause the DJ was asleep
This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again
And on the radio
You hear November Rain
That solo’s awful long
But it’s a good refrain
You listen to it twice
‘Cause the DJ is asleep
On the radio
-Regina Spektor – On the Radio 
 
So… you’re thinking… (what insightful and downwright pathetic words does this kid have to muster up tonight?) I have many, dammit. (Many.)
 
I’m not even going to give voice to the last week. For the first time in my beautifully short, adult life- I’ve decided the best revenge is silence- inspired partially by someone recent.
 
Work is chaos, I’m doing the 8:30- whenevertheheckIgetouttahere-(canieatlunchnowplease?) shift. It’s job security, it’s almost a diet, (cubicle anorexia?)  And.. it’s proving to be me–laying groundwork for a very even-and worn down, brick road. But the point is? I’m laying my own brick.
 
The ebbs and flows of life are killing me softly with brutal irony. One leaves, another returns, someone else comes into the picture who is entirely fantastic… someone kicks himself in the shin and runs away… just a normal week, I presume.
 
It’s getting to be the weekend time- tomorrow night is a hot little date with my favorite, resident geek, (who happens to heart the same band I do..) and Saturday is hopefully a Rod-a-thon complete with moving a gigantic tv, cooking dinner and discussing asshole men. (Poor Rod.) Sunday night is back to the old routine- (I miss Seanathon- maybe a movie- although I’d love to see P. and the crew for dancing.) Now that I’ve stated all this? My friday night plans are my only penned plans. And if the rest goes to hell? :) I’ll have killer swing music and web-geekery.
 
I should be totally crying in my cornflakes right now- but life? Doesn’t wait for you to mew over lost ‘couldhavebeens.’  It’s time to put on my pushupbra, and hit the road.