i pretend she's my girl and that i'm happy. i spent a work week in a basement and back room trying to stay sane. my rash disappeared before a doc could check it. my songs suck. they are saccharine, however you spell it. they don't got no soul. i don't think i care about anything anymore. the people don't get my real jokes. i called my friend after a dream of a plan that didn't get to happen. probably better that way. i'm still a fool. still. still. still.