I hate quoting myself, especially quoting things I've written. However, despite that, to quote, "I'm dying of fright over here."

That last part pretty much sums up my feelings at the moment. I'm pretty desperate for movement, pretty desperate for coolant, 'cause I got too much fire and only action can fuel it.

See there I go again. It's midnight, I'm playing the blues, and that's how I feel.

I just sang along with Freak Out Squares. If you know who Building Better Bombs are, you'll understand that "sang" is not the operative imperfect past-tense verb to use here. Screamed, howled, exploded would all be more descriptive words, prescripted curs cut out to purrs, took off like the blur, lured by bad evidence, dropped like Challenger residents.

Do you understand the problem? To the left of my computer I can see my iPod, my grocery list, an empty bottle of Guinness, extra stout, two CDs. To the right is Claritin, two guitar picks, a half-empty cup of coffee and my mouse.

I'm stuck between stations, not with a Hold Steady kind of patience, and not the ISS, good gracious.

It's been a weird couple of days. I really miss my girlfriend.