..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.