Calling up the Circus

I'm not dead, but I could be. Stuffed like a pig w/ an apple in his mouth: too much pasta, too much tomato and bacon sauce. And more chocolate egg. Water. Now some instant coffee to help the digestion. The abrasive music from the radio isn't helping. Neither the boredom setting in, stretching across this evening like the tent of a falling circus.

I'm not alive, but I should be. Dredging up desire to dance. Enjoying the first day of my weekend (my weekends begin Thursday night.) Calling up friends and planning. Going out. Living. Where do the alive go to at night? What do they do? Do they know I'm trapped here, broke, stuffed, radio-friendly, alone with a crap television schedule? (No cable.)

7.30 pm - Friday 25th of April

I'm seeing them tomorrow night, with slave2dafunk... I think it's going to be very good, if their last album "Libertine" is anything to go by.