My teeth hurt. My eyes hurt. I need to stop making promises I know I'll never keep. But I'm not worrying about this today. It's my day off, and I'm considering going back to bed. And just staying there. I went down the stairs and then forgot why I was there. I was mentally back-stepping, fingertips tracing hipbones, running through my list of complaints. Aspirin? Upstairs. Food? Upstairs. What was down here that I needed enough to waste rare computer time? That's right, thought me, the geek with the Fall Out Boy song stuck in her head. Music. Distraction. I was having a religious experience last night in my kitchen. Nirvana, screamingly loud, my mother hogging the phone. In the time between I hung up with you and I dialed your number again in the dark, I losing train of thought. That's right. Stood in the middle of the linoleum and felt the shivers going down my spine. Their cover of "The Man Who Sold the World" remains one of my favorite songs. It probably will forever. This doesn't have a point. The beginning did. Frustration, deja vu. The rest is just me, being. Insert adjective. Diana, as I have yet figured out how to comment effluvia [if it's even possible that I can]: You were a very cute kid.