One time, I asked Jordan what color his jeep was going to be and he said
"Well it wants to be gray."
Now I'm thinking about my internet connection
"It wants to be on"
but maybe I'm giving it more merit than it deserves.

YOU KNOW WHAT! I DON'T CARE IF ANYBODY'S LISTENING ANYMORE. I'M GOING STIR CRAZY AND IT DOESN'T COUNT BECAUSE THEY WON'T LET ME OUT OF THE ARMY UNLESS I'M CRAZY, BUT IF I'M CRAZY THEN HOW ARE THEY GOING TO KNOW? ALL THEY THINK ABOUT IS THEIR CRACK HABITS.

I feel like
writing a story, but they all end up so tragic and desperate and sad

I feel like
singing but I can't remember all of the words

I feel like walking up to Rob Thomas and asking
just what is he thinking

I feel like
having some one look at me for three seconds
instead of two
(cuz that's when they look away)

I feel like
disappearing into a white puff of smoke that would land
on that boy's shoe (the one he scuffed on the door jam
as he walked in) and I would just keep floating until I
was mostly oxygen, only to be breathed in and breathed
back out.