waking up every five minutes because i don't really wanna wake up. knowing i have someplace to go and something to do but wanting to lay in my bed anyways because it feels so good to stretch out. wearing a pink shirt, she says pink looks good on me. buy more pink. the first one to the meeting so we sit around and watch soap operas until the others arrive. click click two more exposures to get developed before the film gets moldy. rise rally reclaim boasts the chain around my neck. fight breast cancer. buy a cd. sing dance survive, says another charm. be a girl. don't wear a bra. wear a bra dammit. still wearing that silver band around my finger.

long talk last night about the future, where is the future going? it's in the bathroom washing its face. take all the time you need, i'll always be right here. i need time too. i feel like being female. feel like taking a trip to an airport.

not answering the phone because i really don't want to talk to anybody. it's already been an hour and i'm almost done with my sprite. got my lauryn hill cd back, rat a tat tat wanna bust a rap. wrap. rap.

here comes the crimson wave, please god let the crimson wave roll in... "thank you jesus. thank you. thank you" she will say. my january friend. errr... june.

i don't feel too good. falling asleep to rock music because the slow music makes me think and i don't wanna think... somehow it all looks more appealing to me...

-=after hours=- no, down to earth is keeping a gawddamn vegetable garden. woman on television videotaping a monkey in its worst moment, when it falls out of its tree. she says those monkeys don't have necks because they obviously fall out of trees all the damn time. the monkeys hang there HOO HOOOO and hang there HOO HOOOO and the guy mimics them like he knows their entire selves but he's only read about them in books. don't know what real oranges taste like cause i see the oranges then i see the green apples then i see the oranges and i would rather eat the apples. dunking my hair in my o.j. cause my shampoo makes my hair taste good. trying to write songs but all my inspiration wants to stay hidden inside me like yesterday's side of white rice.

so yer side hurts, he says. my side doesn't hurt, he says. what are you doing? i ask him. what are you doing to me, cory? he says he doesn't know. says he's gonna wing it. you always have to wing it with these things. so what if i want something glorious to happen when he comes, so what if i want to make him wish he never had to go home... what if i want to blow him away?

remind me that iguanas love to eat hibiscus flowers.