people dream dreams of oceans and sand...

illusions caused by tryptophan...

t.s. elliot eat you heart out...

i love that poem. anyone know which one i'm refering to? i gave a big clue with the authors' name. if i were a poet, i'd like to think that i'd be like t.s. elliot. he makes fun of himself and at his insecurities. it all seems very now.

anyways. friday was a bust. i did nothing...well, i cleaned. i must admit there is some satisfaction in having a really white and clean toilet bowl. and having my room all organized makes it easier to think. but, i didn't even leave the house yesterday, that's pretty sad. i don't know why, i just didn't have anything planned that would take me out of the house. i usually have a million things that take me around and about the south sound, but yesterday was just for sitting and being.

today, however, i'm off to football practice. i'm still the shortest one there, but i don't get any "rudy" jokes (from the people there at least) and i have a good time. so, yeah...there you go.

right, i wish that i had more to say. i kind of want to keep writing, to pour out all these amazing thoughts, but i just don't have anything there to let out. the rut continues, i'm still alive, all your base are belong to us, don't stop believin’, there's always tomorrow for dreams to come true, i just want to be me...when i can...i will...

place those song exerpts!

and so i leave you,

as scattered as always,

-weatherboy