let me tell you a few things

(but I'm not promising they're interesting)

Isn't it wonderful how just anyone can post anything they like on the Internet? Some people put it to good use and sometimes I think I do too, but then there's nights like these...

..putting off going to bed, listening to John Mayer (my secret shame)*, hair in pigtails, found sarong around me**, the Burt's Bees cream smell on my hands, the santa hat that Jacky also has one of jauntily propped on top of the broken lava lamp on the bureau, the thought of work tomorrow making me avoid thinking...

*at Fish Records in Newtown on Saturday night, buying my ticket for Ani Difranco's show on the first of March (read it and weep, Janice), I also bought "Room for Squares" for twenty bucks. I did feel silly bringing it to the counter, to the cool little chick who had helped me figure out which seats in the Enmore Theatre I wanted, who had told me all about her David Bowie concert experience just the week previous. She patronized me a little, saying "Yeah, this first album's alright," which is OK because in another sense I was patronizing her...

**I lost this sarong for ages, although I wouldn't have if I'd realized it was in my backpack's secret pocket all along...

Time passing: there's an unalterable fact we all oughta get used to. My hands sometimes physically want to grab onto the moment and put it somewhere (a lead-lined box, perhaps?) to keep it, maybe not forever but long enough that it gets all dried out and used up (is that why we keep flowers?) and easier to discard. Maybe instead of a lead-lined box I should be content with taping these metaphorical moments over my bed upside down.

And I apologize for saying "metaphorical moments". It won't ever happen again. And to make up for it, here's something for ya, kiddo. (PS. Doesn't this fellow look like Kyle MacLachlan?)

Credits
Thanks to Janice for the link on her page to the thing I linked to above. And for the slandering she always takes with a smile.