Andrea Bocelli Makes My Heart Sing

Maybe I blog too much. I sit down nearly every night, just after midnight, and pour my heart onto my keyboard (apparently using more e's, s's, a's and n's than anything else judging by how little of the letters I can still see) even if I have nothing of value to say. I just go and go and go and maybe there are more worthwhile ways to waste my time. Or maybe it's just a new case of the lady doth protest too much. Whichever the case, it can be said in truth that I blog a lot. And usually about nothing of import.

Restless and Exhausted are beginning to mesh and make a baby; and I will call her Instability.

You're Making Me Furious

What words could possibly get across what I feel towards you right now? Oh, right. Fury. Disappointment. A general loss for words as to how someone could be as stupid as you - that about covers it.

I don't know where this is going, why I should even need to write it, or why there is a party giraffe as my picture.

There are only two things I need to say:
1. Don't you dare put this on me.
2. You lied all along...at least admit it now, in the end.

I'm frustrated, exhausted, and you...you aren't worth another word.