..some warm Jim Bean and a Petticoat

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.

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..some warm Jim Bean and a Petticoat

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