Dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had

The one beautiful thing about my recent resignation from life is that I have spent most of this evening watching music channels. Laying on the floor in my melancholy, it's like being sixteen again except for I had a much easier time hooking up with people then.

Actually, I soaked in the tub for a bit. I thought that if I listened to my ol' friend Tori that I could break this wall. Maybe I should have chose something other than "Under the Pink"

Between residual ickiness of last night's drinking and my massively over the top anxiety today, I feel like vomiting and my chest is on fire.

It's going to be a shitty week. My bro leaves Saturday for California. He might as well be moving to Antartica, because when am I ever going to be able to afford to visit him?

I feel like I should leave y'all with a song. I don't know,nothing really sings to me today...wait, maybe a little Concrete Blonde. I've had this song floating around my head for a while. Truthfully, I never really cared for this song when the album came out. It okay because it's CB and because it's got my name in it, but it never set my world on fire...until I got older...

Jenny I Read

Jenny I read something you said about
Rock and roll and life and death
Ah, jenny I read they carried you home
Broken, beaten all alone

Oh, jenny you said
Jenny you thought
Give them all that they want
Everything that you got
Oh, jenny my dear
It’s a wicked city
Once you’re young, stupid and pretty

And all the angry young boys (and all the angry young girls)
They’re making angry loud noises (kicking back at the world)
And all the angry young boys (and all the angry young girls)

Jenny they cried
Jenny they screamed
Your picture in every magazine
Yeah, ya wanted it all
But the american dream was nothing to write home about

She was the next big thing
And the telephone was ringing all of the time
You were wined and dined every night
Then one day it was over
And where are you now they wonder

And all the angry young boys (and all the angry young girls)
They’re making angry loud noises (kicking back at the the world)
And all the angry young boys (and all the angry young girls)

Superstar, that’s what you are

And all the angry young boys (and all the angry young girls)
They’re making angry loud noises (kicking back at the the world)
And all the angry young boys (and all the angry young girls)

Behind their, their fingers
Eyes aside
In sharp little whispers
They say it’s her
It is her
What happened to her
She knows this
And she smiles

She doesn’t look anything
Anything like her pictures
She used to be
She used to be
She used to be

But she knows this and she smiles
For she has miles and miles of memories all to herself
Everything in between then and now
And all her images of everything in between now and then
And all they have
Ah, pictures
Pictures