How many times must I tell you, how many bridges Ive got to cross?
How many times must I explain myself before I can talk to the boss?
It's off to screaming start, this Friday night thing. The iPod is taunting me, reminding about all the music I haven't made. The caffeine from Peets is propping up a tired facade fresh from a crash into the wall. The good doctor indicates that it is probably pretty important to figure out who/what part is totally out of control...totally devoid of any inkling of mortality or danger or the laws of physics.
Then there is the hanging chad. Do I stand up and occupy the moral high ground at the risk of long, recurrent plane flights to who knows where? No more every other day? A diminshing part in the ongoing concern? I suppose that is quite a choice. Evidently I have to think about it...
