oh how it is one of those nights. where you lie and wonder. and by lie i don't mean tell un-truths. or maybe i do. but only to myself. delusion is much more fun than real life, isn't it?

now, how was that for a cheery intro? i am really am working on my evening enthusiasm.

really just another example of melodramtics for dummies. a book i seem to be writing quite prolifically.

and why not? i mean, i love to wax on (wax off) about my oh-so-deep-and-meaningful soul searchings. i look into myself, see, and then see a murky, murky mess of well, messiness. my heart's littered with junk and discarded things, much like the the floor of my bedroom.

and let's not even start on my mind. an attic in desperate need of an overhaul -- full of forgotten conversations, half-finished stories and excuses. and stacked everywhere, everywhere! are wordplays. piles and piles and boxes and drawers and closets of wordplays, waiting to escape my mouth and see the light of play. wordplay that is.

you know those moments where you think, "well, things might be severely bizarre right now - but everything will settle into some sort of normalcy soon?" yes, those. is it just my perpetually high level of optimism to expect, to hope, to feel that things will somehow work out?

or am i just mildly clueless?

very possibly both.