n'est pas

I don't understand how a week can feel like a month. I hope 2005 does not turn into the year of the gaping hole, and I'm just followed around by this sentimenatal toy piano soundtrack giving everything more weight and people just get sick of hearing about it. That's when I'll resort to doing little else than staring at the wall and hoping the atoms do something worth watching. Everyone bickers and nitpicks and raises their voices and has a thing or two to say about why and why not and everyone's angry and I just shrug and wonder why nothing makes sense because I can't think of anything bad to say and yet here I am.

I want a tent where I can play records and play astronaut and sleep because nothing else exists.