Tuesday afternoon 12.33 pm.
EXCEPT I CALL IT MORNING

The morning comes too soon and has forgotten me, trailing off with her fat behind waving mockingly in my face. I roll out of bed, which sticks to me like fly paper while reaching tencacles into my soul, chocking off my will. This is my morning.

It feels like an emotional hangover. Ugh. My left eye has always been a little lazy and sticks to its lid, leaving half my world unfocused and the other half, just plan pissy.

wha... what hit me?

I'm still asking that question, here on the keyboard over blogge, MSN, and a kooky hotmail account. What hit me?

I sort of remember, an overworked day, lack of sleep, heart-probing conversations, heart-ripping conversations, a negative self-appraisal of my emotional direction. And my dreams. The fuzzy over-ripe ones that fade with the morning, or afternoon.

And here I am, it's now 12.50, and if not for Majortom, I'd be a little worse for wear.

Yes it's true, the coolest peeps are all in Eastern Canada.