There’s got to be a better way to air my dirty laundry. Now that we are all friends it feels really wrong to write about all that private stuff. It used to be okay because we didn’t know who was reading it. Now I write stuff and then somebody calls me and asks if I’m okay. I mean, I love you. A lot. But there’s a line that has been crossed. And it can’t be un-crossed. And I’m just kind of wondering what to do next.
I know! I’ll Keep it to myself! Done.
. . .and sneak off to this island
I could bring my little ghettoblaster
there’s more to life than this.
but we’d have to rush back
to the towns best baker
to get the first bread of the morning
there’s more to life than this. . .