so, last night i did some thinking.

if anyone asks -- the way to do that is to drive around bronte around one thirty, throwing free lick's vegetarian burritos at garbage cans from your car. then go to a playground, put on sunglasses, listen to jack's mannequin and copeland (or dashboard and soco), and jump into a swing that's too short for you. now watch the apartment buildings.

the room on the far left, second from the top, is watching tv. see the flashing lights. you get familiar with those when you walk past or into your parents room for seven years. and it's a huge mother-loving tv. and my shoe is falling off.

so i did some thinking.

i thought that maturity is finally realizing that everything in life has its own hangover.

i thought about this: have you ever been carrying something with someone else. then they ask you if you can carry it by yourself, and you're confident, so you say "yes." they let go and it's only then that you realize how much of the weight they were taking.
you were like that to me
and when you weren't there for that long, i finally -- yes, i mean finally -- realized how much i counted on you being there all the time.
so we've already established that i may be in love
we haven't? oh. well then, nevermind.
i'm not confident anymore

so here comes that hangover. which means, "get out the applesauce". which obviously hasn't been in the fridge. and of course, add cinnamon and granulated sugar. i've heard i put in too much, but to be honest -- i can't taste it. i need to do some thinking. mommy, drive me to bronte.

is there anbody going to listen to my story / all about the girl who came to stay / she's the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry / still, you don't regret a single day -girl the beatles

and ryan, in order:
rescued
the mixed tape
holiday from real
kill the messenger
miss delaney

i need you, but, please / don't get me rescued -rescued jack's mannequin