So all I've really been doing today is sitting in front of the TV with Allison, watching TV. Other than school, of course. I feel like a beet.

So . . . .what's new with you?

Yeah, me niether.

Since I have nothing else to say, I'll just let The Postal Service do talking. Here's the song lyrics that I quote up there in the browser . . . . title . . . . .thing. Its from "Nothing Better"

Will someone please call a surgeon who can crack my ribs
and repair this broken heart that you're deserting for better company?
I can't accept that it's over: I will block the door
like a goalie tending the net in the third quarter
of a tied-game of rivalry

So just say how to make it right
and I swear I'll do my best to comply

Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better
than making you my bride and slowly growing old together

(girl singing)
I feel I must interject here, you're getting carried away,
feeling sorry for youself with these revisions and gaps in history.
So let me help you remember. I've made charts
and graphs that should finally make it clear.
I've prepared a lecture on why I have to leave

So please back away and let me go (/girl singing)
I can't my darling I love you so. oh ohhhh

Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better
than making you my bride and slowly growing old together
(girl singing) don't you feed me lines about some idealistic future
your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures (/girl singing)

I admit that I have made mistakes
and I swear I'll never wrong you again
(girl singing) you've got a lure I can't deny,
but you've had your chance so say goodbye,
say goodbye (/singing)

So what's a suture?

I think this one is about an atomic bomb. You tell me.

I've got a cupboard with cans of food,
filtered water, and pictures of you
and I'm not coming out until this is all over.
And I'm looking through the glass
where the light bends at the cracks
and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs
pretending the echoes belong to someone
someone I used to know

and we become silhouettes when our bodies finally go

I wanted to walk though the empty streets
and feel something constant under my feet,
but all the news reports recommended that I stay indoors
because the air outside will make
our cells divide at an alarming rate
until our shells simply cannot hold
all our insides in,
and that's when we'll explode
(and it won't be a pretty sight)

and we'll become silhouettes when our bodies finally go

9:29 p.m. November 17, 2003
yesterday . not so yesterday